


Wayfaring Strangers

by morierblackleaf



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Violence, Non-Graphic Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-05
Updated: 2014-06-13
Packaged: 2018-01-13 22:29:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 71,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1242892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morierblackleaf/pseuds/morierblackleaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a child who seeks to prove himself to his Elven foster family, Estel has run away from Rivendell, only to be found by a Wood-Elf who was on his way to the hidden valley. When the two are attacked by Orcs, Estel is then faced with keeping both Legolas and himself alive in the woods, while injured, lost, and without supplies.</p><p>This is a story about Legolas and Aragorn meeting for the first time. It contains only mild violence and no sexual content. </p><p>I own none of these characters and make no money from writing about them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

For too long had he roamed the forests alone, and so the Adan tarried there no further when he saw the smoke and flickering light of a campfire in the clearing up ahead. The smell of meat roasting over the open fire enticed his cantankerous belly into growling in hungry protest. He was in unfamiliar territory; the young human had never traveled alone so far from the comfortable, lush woodland area around his new home, for he had never been allowed to do so. Now, however, as he crept along the underbrush surreptitiously to draw closer to whomever had camped in the grassy area near the tree line, the Adan, who was fewer in years than some of the saplings against which he brushed as he cautiously crawled forward, could not suppress the sudden desire to have remained at home.

_I cannot let them dissuade me,_ the human thought. _If they had their way, I would be tied to a pillar in the courtyard where every Elf in Imladris could keep her eye on me._

His steps were abnormally light and his movement natural as he pushed past brambles and vines to crawl on his hands and knees. The short blade that was normally strapped to his waist he had tied tightly to his thigh so that it would not alert the wayfarer before him of the young human's approach. Although the traveler gave no indication that he was unfriendly, and despite the fact that the human was desperate for company, Estel would take any necessary precautions to ensure that he would return to his Elven home in one piece, if only because he was not willing to give Lord Elrond’s twin sons the satisfaction of being proven right.

_I am more than capable of spending a few weeks in the forest alone,_ he assured himself at the memory of Elrohir and Elladan’s response to Estel's desire to trek the path to the foothills of the Misty Mountains.

It was not a particularly dangerous path; the way to the mountains was safe compared to the other paths Estel had considered traveling, paths that upon reflection, the human realized that neither the twins nor Lord Elrond would _ever_ have allowed him to traverse. Elladan and Elrohir’s utter lack of support for his adventure had only fomented his decision to escape their mothering attentions, and the human had pled with Lord Elrond to grant him permission to be on his own. He had tried to tell them that he was almost fifteen years of age; it had been a stretch of the truth, for he was only thirteen years, a fact Lord Elrond and his twin sons had well known, but his argument had not mattered, regardless. The stoic looks of wisdom borne from the many years the three Eldar had lived had smothered the young human’s hope. He had nearly wept in frustration.

Life was not easy for a human living amongst Elves.

Estel came to an immediate stop when the definitive snap of a twig met his ears. _Damn it,_ he cursed himself, realizing that it was he who had made the noise. _You are being careless._ His advance upon the traveler camped ahead had been slow, but he was now less than ten yards away from the campfire. _Perhaps they have food to share,_ he hoped, breathing in deeply the succulent smell of freshly cooking meat. _I am sick of dried venison._

The thought nearly drove him into running towards the traveler ahead of him, for he had not even jerky to eat now, and had not eaten anything substantial in four days. Elrohir and Elladan had taught him much about the forest but without them here to show Estel what was safe to eat, Estel had avoided eating anything but that which he knew to be comestible, and thus had only eaten a few blackberries that were ripe before their time. On many occasions over the last days, he had wished he had thought to bring his bow and arrows with him, but had not in his hasty flight and so did not even have the means to hunt small game.

_Be still, you fool._ If the twins ever found out what he was doing at that moment – that is, trying to sneak up on an unknown traveler in the hopes that said traveler would help him – they would no doubt have truly tied Estel to a pillar in Rivendell’s courtyard.

Of course, they had not known he had left then, though they knew now and were likely searching for him with rope in hand, plotting the best knot to tie to keep him in Imladris. The young human had climbed down the balustrade of his balcony, along the trellis and down it. When his feet had hit the stone walkway beneath him, Estel had fled Imladris as if in fear for his life. He had taken no horse and left no note. Lord Elrond, Elrohir, and Elladan would know where he had gone. His childish enthusiasm and confidence that he could make this journey alone had overwhelmed his better sense. He had run the whole night, not bothering to hide his tracks or ensure that the twins would not follow. The human had only hoped to reach the edge of Rivendell's borders before the angry Elven Lords caught up to him.

Eight days later, lost and hungry in the woods, Estel wished the twins had caught up to him.

He held his every muscle taut to remain completely still and as silent as he could while he waited for the hush of the traveler ahead to break. Faint humming began once again from the campsite. Estel breathed a quieted sigh of relief; the wayfarer had not heard him, or had dismissed the noise as a simple sound of the forest.

_Thank Eru,_ the relieved human thought, and then wondered, _Maybe this stranger can show me the way to the river._

All of Imladris’ warriors would be out searching for him now, but if at all possible, the human wanted to return home without admitting complete defeat. He would need some good memories of his adventure to comfort him while he sat tied hand and foot to the pillar in the courtyard.

Inching forwards, the Adan peered over the tall grass in hopes of catching sight of the traveler, but did not dare look long. Quickly jerking his head down and his body back into a crouch, Estel considered, _I would think that an Orc doesn't hum. This is either a man or an Elf._ Although human himself, the young Adan would have preferred to find the latter sitting beside the fire, for an Elf would know how to get the Adan to Imladris. Sudden hope filled him. _Perhaps it is one of the Imladrian warriors,_ he mused happily, springing spontaneously to his feet to see. _Perhaps –_

As rapidly as he stood, the fire was out, the clearing dark, and the human child shrank back from the sudden absence of sound and light around him. Estel’s jaw hung agape and the air rushed from his juvenilely thin chest. Unthinkingly, he fell back to his hands and knees on the grassy earth, hiding his presence in belated instinct.

_It is no warrior,_ he worried, pulling his gangly limbs back to him with a graceless, boisterous commotion of grass and breaking twigs. _You idiot,_ he told himself. _What were you thinking?_

The hope of food and company and someone to guide him home became utmost fear. His mouth dried from hanging open for so long. Estel pulled his tongue free from the roof of his mouth where it was seemingly stuck. Licking his lips, the young human nearly began to run when the firelight resumed suddenly once more, but instead, the Adan pushed himself further into the soft ground, his ears attentive to the slightest noise that signaled the approach of the traveler.

_Please let him be friendly,_ Estel prayed, feeling increasingly foolish at his exuberantly mislaid plans. Had he not been afraid to move, the human would have boxed his own ears. _Not that it will save me the pleasure of having my ears boxed by the twins,_ he thought.

For many long, torturous moments, the human did not budge more than it took him to breathe. The firelight did not die out again but the soft, pleasant humming he had heard before did not restart. Wafting above him were the delicious smells of roasted rabbit and his belly growled again in its ravenous state. _Maybe I have scared him more than he has scared me,_ he thought, realizing that it was very unlikely that anyone at the campsite could ever be as frightened as he was at that moment. Estel heard nothing except the crackling of roasted meat. He could nearly taste the gamey flesh that he could now only smell, so when his stomach’s protest increased, Estel turned his nose into the heady smell of dirt under him. _I will wait him out. He will leave in the morning._

Soon the sizzling meat began to scorch, emitting a furious smoke that rekindled the human’s desire to approach the stranger. _You are ruining your dinner,_ he scolded the traveler. _And perhaps mine, if you would share it,_ he added. Staying close to the ground, the human attempted to crawl forward on the ground without creating a sound. The summer’s grass whispered around him, the tangled undergrowth seemed to be rife with branches and rocks that clanged together with impossibly loud snaps and creaks, and the hoarse, seemingly thunderous sound of his breathing competed only with the steady thud of his wildly beating heart. _Turn around and run,_ he told himself, pausing in his movements, but argued with himself, _Surely if he means me harm, he would have done something by now_.

Feeling ridiculous, the young human rose to his knees, and then to his feet before his courage gave out to his fearful need to flee. He expected the firelight to extinguish again immediately but it did not, and the human took the opportunity to survey the campsite.

It was abandoned.

No one sat at the fire and there was nothing to indicate that anyone had ever sat there, other than the burning rabbit meat spitted over the campfire. Striding to the blaze, Estel grabbed the spit and held it away from the flames. Looking fearfully around him, the human tried to penetrate the darkness with his gaze. The trees around him cast shadows so deep that he could not discern beyond the circle of firelight.

“Suilad,” he called softly, uncertain whether he wanted the traveler to respond or not. _I have scared him away,_ the human thought, but tried again, this time in the common tongue, “Hello?” Sitting beside the fire with a defeated sigh, Estel held the spitted meat in hand. The temptation of pulling free the traveler’s supper from its thin wooden spit became too much.

“May I share your dinner?” he asked the empty clearing. Tossing the scrap of meat into his mouth and guilty that he had ruined his potential company’s peaceful night and was now eating the traveler's meal, Estel added, “Thank you. I am famished. I have had no food for days.” Chewing the charred but delicious meat, the human said again, this time in Sindar, “Hannon le.”

Receiving no answer, the Adan continued speaking as he sated his appetite. Without his hunger to distract him, the human’s fright returned, and so he merely spoke as if the traveler could hear him, though it was to hear himself speak that he bothered to do so.

“I am lost in the woods,” Estel explained, sounding childish and petulant to his own ears. He shook his head, stuffing half the meat into his mouth and chewing quickly. “I am sorry to disturb you,” he offered, driving one end of the spit between the rocks that had been built around the fire and leaving the rest of the rabbit for the traveler, should he return.

The need to flee overtook the young human again but he did not. Scooting closer to the comforting fire, Estel untied the short sword at his thigh and placed it on the ground beside him where he sat. Drawing his knees to his chest, the Adan folded his arms across them and rested his chin on his forearms.

_Do not fall asleep,_ he chided himself, opening his eyes to stare into the firelight. _Whoever’s dinner you just ate may come back for it._

Knowing he should not sleep, that he should not stay, the weary and frightened child tried to keep slumber at bay. His aching limbs and full belly prompted him to give up: innocently, he hoped that the traveler would return. He wanted an adult with him, and his innocence led him to believe that any adult would be better than no adult at all. Besides, at this point, even the twins would suffice for company. The night air was not cold but the human wrapped his arms about himself tightly as he lay on the ground by the fire. His eyes slid shut, his hand searching in the grass automatically for the calming texture of the hilt of his short sword. Estel slept, unaware of the creature in the tree watching him.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The morning call of the birds woke the human. Estel sat up abruptly, not aware of where he was and why he was there. From the dying embers of last night’s fire, a thin trail of smoke drifted towards the lightening sky above his head. Looking rapidly around him, the young human gauged that he was still lost in the forest alone, much to his consternated disappointment. He sighed, thinking, _At least I am still alive._

Brushing the grass and dew off his tunic, Estel tied his sword back to his thigh with its leather thong, grumbling under his breath, “And at least there will still be rabbit left for breakfast, even if I have to fight the ants for it.”

Reaching for the spit, the Adan’s hand paused in midair, his eyes growing wide with alarm. No meat remained on the thin limb. _An animal has stolen my breakfast,_ he thought, but then chided himself, _which serves me right, since I stole it from a stranger!_

Amused despite his growling belly, Estel searched for signs of the thief as he sat on the grass, recalling the twins’ instructions about identifying footprints. There were no clear footprints in the dew laden grass around him, and whatever animal might have wished to eat the cooked rabbit could have found the unsuspecting human beside it a much better meal, he realized sheepishly.

_He came back for his dinner,_ the human suddenly thought of the traveler from the night before, and was horrified at the idea that he had been sleeping while an unknown being had been nearby. In the dark night, hungry and scared, it had seemed his only option to approach the stranger, but now, in the rising sunlight’s illumination, the young human saw how foolish he had been.

_I am lost in the woods with someone whose dinner I stole._ Estel snorted with bitter enjoyment of his predicament, thinking, _Elladan and Elrohir will not be surprised to hear this story._

Rising to his feet, Estel kicked the rocks and ashes of the fire, extinguishing the embers. With that done, the human glanced around the grass to see if he had left anything, though he had nothing to leave behind. He had lost his bedroll several days ago, and his water skin he had misplaced. All he had with him were the clothes he wore and his short sword, which was barely more than a glorified kitchen knife. He had been taught how to use a blade made for battle, but he had not been given his own yet. Lord Glorfindel had not deemed him ready for combat, and the commander’s opinion was highly valued by the already overprotective Lord of Imladris.

Although a child, he was no fool. Estel could not fathom how he had become lost in the first place – finding one’s way back to Imladris was the very first lesson the twins had ever taught the human about traveling. Putting the rising sun to his back, Estel left the clearing, ignoring his thirst and trying to remember the two Elven Lords’ words.

_It is no use,_ he thought to himself. _I have walked west for the last few days. I will never find home._

He walked through the morning, occasionally singing softly to keep himself company. Despite the otherwise tranquil forest, Estel felt as though he were being followed, as though some presence were watching him. He peered behind each tree as he passed it and would quiet at the slightest sound within the woods, but the silence bothered him more than the noises, and so he would begin to sing again. His thirst grew with the temperature, causing his own temperature to rise and his thirst to worsen even more as he could not seem to stay cool. Around him, the birds sang happily and the midsummer flowers brushed his stocking legs as he walked drudgingly through the intermittent clearings in the forest.

He had the sneaking suspicion that he may have walked right past Imladris, and told himself jokingly, _If I keep walking west, I will end up in the Grey Havens!_ Entering a grove of oak trees, the human slowed his pace, eager to stay in the shade although unwilling to stop moving.

“Will you be quiet?” he told his growling stomach, rubbing the tunic over his belly as though to pacify his hunger pangs. Soft laughter caused the young human to stop mid-step, while fear crept over him; the hair on his arms and neck stood on end.

“I did not imagine that,” Estel asserted, still speaking absently to his rumbling belly. The soft laughter erupted from the tree branch overhead of him, startling the Adan and causing him to jump backwards. He stumbled over a fallen tree trunk on the ground behind him, tumbled over its side, and landed on his back, his feet in the air, with a painful thwack. More joyous, mirthful laughter came from the tree above him, and the young human merely stared up into the branches, too stunned to move. He was not afraid, but merely surprised. He did not think that anyone of such a merry nature would want to harm him; however, the mysterious stranger’s laughter stopped abruptly, and the eerie silence of the forest fell upon Estel.

“You could come out, you know,” he told the trees, not sure if the enigmatic presence was still there.

The Adan sat up, pulling his long legs under him: he had not yet grown into his body and always seemed to be falling down. _I have the grace of a newborn foal,_ Estel snorted to himself. Putting his back against the fallen trunk, the human folded his legs and crossed his arms over his chest.

“I am sorry I ate your dinner,” he added a bit more loudly, just in case the stranger had taken off through the trees.

Tapping his fingers in frustration against his upper arm, the human wondered who was in the woods with him. _I am sure it is an Elf. No other creature with such a cheerful deportment could stalk me so easily from the trees._ As his belly let loose another irritated growl, the young human moaned in aggravation. He was tired of being lost, he was tired of being hungry, and he did not feel up to playing games. He knew it was not the twins or one of the Imladrian warriors who had been laughing, for if it had been, Estel would be on his way back to Rivendell already, likely hogtied to the back of a horse. _Why would this Elf not come out?_ the human thought, trying to ignore the gnawing, cross grumbles of his stomach.

Estel started once more when the laughter began afresh, this time closer to him than before. He looked up just in time to catch a flash of green before it fell into his lap. Startled, the human gasped but did not have time to move before the object hit him. Disbelieving his eyes, the Adan reached out to touch the package that had rained from the sky above him to land perfectly on his bent knee: it was a leaf-wrapped wafer of lembas. Ripping the leaf in his hungry rush to eat the waybread, Estel broke off a piece and nearly shoved it into his mouth before he stopped, inspecting the bread with suspicion. Sniffing the bread gingerly, the human broke off a much smaller piece and chewed it slowly, tasting it for toxin, although the very smell of the Elven bread made his mouth water and his belly clench in anticipation of being filled.

The joyous laughter resumed, but this time, an equally merry voice asked him, “Are you afraid I will poison you, Master Human? You are very picky for one whose stomach growls so loudly.”

Estel blushed and wiped the sweat off his brow. The noontime sun reflected the glossy green leaves above him, and he told the trees and the stranger hidden within, “I mean no offense. I am wary to trust someone I cannot see, however,” he hinted, eating a larger piece of the lembas as if in good will.

The leaves above him rustled. “What if I scare you away? Have you not heard the tales your people tell of the Wood-Elves?”

_A Wood-Elf!_ Estel scrambled to stand in his excitement, forgetting the lembas in his lap and letting it fall to the grassy forest floor.

“I do not know what tales they tell,” he explained, walking circles around the tree to search its great limbs for the bodiless voice, “but I have heard stories from Lord Elrond.”

“You know the Lord of Imladris, Master Human?”

Just when the Adan youth thought he had seen a glimpse of blond hair above him, the sun shifted behind a cloud and the telltale golden shine was gone. He stared where he had seen it, waiting for movement, but none came.

“I am a guest in his home,” Estel explained, wary to reveal to the stranger too much. He had never met an Elf who was not trustworthy, but then, his experience with Elves was limited to only his adoptive father’s people. Wood-Elves he had only heard about, and he did not know if the strange stories were true or not.

Remembering his dire circumstances despite his excitement to meet the elusive woodland Elda, the Adan added, “I am trying to find my way back to Rivendell, Master Wood-Elf. Do you happen to know which way it lies?” Estel shoved the piece of lembas he held in his hand into his mouth and promptly began to choke on the dry bread. A bladder of water fell from the tree to his right, landing softly in a tuft of grass. The human seized the water, washing the dry crumbs of the waybread from his mouth before he thanked the stranger, “Hannon le.”

Behind him came the barely audible thud of something hitting the ground. Estel whirled around, nearly losing his balance in his hurry to see what the stranger had dropped next, but it was no thing that had fallen. On the log that the human had tripped over earlier perched an Elf clad in a brown cloak and dark green leggings. Beneath the hood pulled down over the stranger’s head was a bright smile on a pale face framed by two long, blond braids. The Wood-Elf roosted on the log and replied, “You are welcome, Master Human.” Estel stared in unabashed curiosity at the stranger. “And yes, I know where Rivendell lies.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

He had expected the Adan child to be afraid of him but the human merely smiled at the Prince, his curious gray eyes wide with excitement at Legolas’ sudden appearance. It pleased the Prince; he would not be able to help the human if he had to chase the young one through the forest. The immortal smiled to himself, thinking, _It is no wonder he does not fear Elves, if he is a visitor to Imladris._

His own curiosity besting him, the Wood-Elf prompted, “You are a guest in the house of Elrond?”

The child nodded but looked unsure, and then shrugged his shoulders, explaining, “I have been a guest in Imladris for many years.”

It occurred to Legolas, whose smile brightened at the thought, that the human had not been alive very many years; however, his agile mind quickly pieced together the human’s answer with what his father, the King of Eryn Galen, had told him of Imladris and what to expect when visiting there.

 _This may be Isildur’s heir,_ he contemplated, for his father had long known from word given to him from his friend Lord Elrond that the Prince of Gondor resided in Imladris, news of which few outside the Eldar race were aware.

Walking almost silently amidst the leaves and twigs covering the forest floor as he brought Legolas’ flask back to him, the human continued, “My name is Aragorn, but my mother and the Elves call me Estel.” When the Prince had taken the flask in hand, the human stepped back and swept his arm out from where he held it against his chest, saying, “Mae govannen.” The child then smiled wryly, as though the need for formality amused him.

Standing from the fallen log, Legolas repeated the gesture and welcome, and then added, “My name is Legolas.”

The human gave the Elf a narrow, shrewd look before his eyes widened once more. “You are a Prince of Mirkwood?”

“I am,” the Wood-Elf said, resuming sitting on the log. He was surprised that the human knew of him. He gestured to the space beside him and the human moved to join the Prince. Legolas waited until Estel was seated before he replied to the Adan, “And you are lost.”

Laughing sheepishly, the human agreed, “Yes, I am lost, and have been hopelessly so for –” Estel paused, his head titling to the side slightly as he thought, “For nine days now.”

Legolas’ inquisitiveness about the human rose. _He does not seem afraid to be lost in the woods._

“When Lords Elrohir and Elladan find me," the human said, "they will no doubt tie me to a pillar in the courtyard.”

“Ah,” Legolas exclaimed, pulling free an apple from his satchel to hand to the still hungry human. “I thought I heard you mumbling about the sons of Elrond tying you to a pillar of some sort.”

“So you _have_ been following me all day,” the Adan replied, twisting his seat on the log to face the Wood-Elf. Estel took the offered apple, but looked uncomfortable once again, and Legolas began to worry the child was frightened that he had trailed him. However, Estel apologized to the Prince, looking down at the apple in hand, saying, “It was your dinner I ate, was it not? I am sorry. I was so hungry. I am not usually a thief.”

Legolas tried not to laugh at the sincere apology but could not hide his mirthful smile. “Do not worry over it, Estel,” the Prince said. “You took me by surprise last night,” he admitted to the human child, speculating how the Adan had ever learnt to walk as softly as he had. “If it had not been for your rumbling stomach, I am sure you could have walked right up to the fire without my notice.”

The Prince’s compliment caused the human to smirk as he took a bite of his apple. With childhood enthusiasm, Estel proclaimed, “Elladan and Elrohir taught me how to move through the forest.” Rubbing the apple juice from his face, the Adan said, “Although they also taught me how to find my way back to Imladris, and this I seem to have forgotten.”

For a few minutes, the human ate his apple silently; Legolas took the opportunity to study the odd Adan, seeing the short sword strapped to the boy’s thigh and the Elvish clothes the human wore. Shaking his head, the Prince mused at his luck in meeting the child in the forest. _I’d say that the Noldor are out looking for him. We should leave for Imladris soon._

As if hearing the Wood-Elf’s thoughts, the boy threw his empty core to the ground, smeared the last of the apple juice clinging to his face across his tunic’s sleeve, and then asked, “To where are you traveling?”

He considered the boy’s question and then told the Adan, “I go to Imladris. Lord Elrond is friend to my father, and I had planned to spend time in the valley, and to meet Lord Elrond's sons.” The hopeful expression on Estel’s face warmed the Wood-Elf’s heart. Although he had little experience with human children, this Adan was easy to read. Estel did not want to be left in the forest alone, nor would Legolas have let the child travel alone, and it was for this reason that the Wood-Elf had trailed the human all day. “Would you care to accompany me?”

Estel leapt up from the fallen log. “If you do not mind,” he said slowly, questioning the Wood-Elf with his bright, inquisitive eyes. When Legolas shook his head in the negative, telling the human he did not mind at all, the boy beamed, the relief at having been found evinced in his eagerness.

“Come then,” Legolas prompted, rising from the trunk. He adjusted the weapons strapped to his person and wound his satchel over his arm, saying, “Imladris is three days away. We should take advantage of the daylight.”

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Estel walked behind the Wood-Elf, mimicking the Prince’s steps as they walked through the forest. _Three days? Lord Elrond will have my head, if Elladan and Elrohir do not have it first._ Ahead of him, Legolas began to sing softly, his voice carrying to Estel, comforting him.

The singing stopped abruptly, and the Wood-Elf asked in conversation, “How did you get lost?”

Startled from his thoughts, the boy flushed with embarrassment and was glad that the Wood-Elf did not see him do so. “I desired to venture to the foothills of the Misty Mountains,” he told Legolas. He expected the Prince to tell him that he was too young, that the way was too dangerous, or that his getting lost had proved him a fool instead of a man: instead, Legolas kept walking through the tall grasses, waiting for Estel to finish his explanation. “And I became lost,” he finished lamely, still not sure how he had become so horribly erroneous about how to return to Imladris.

Legolas ceased walking; he turned, allowing the Adan to catch up to him before he asked bluntly, “Have you run away from home? And now you wish to return?”

Estel began to fidget, nervous to appear silly in front of the Prince. “No,” he evaded. “It is just that…”

The fair Elda grinned at him, guessing, “You have run away but intended to return from the start.” The Wood-Elf’s grin grew. “Elves and men are not so different, Estel.” Utterly confused as to Legolas’ meaning, the Adan switched his weight from foot to foot, frowning at the abstruse answer. Before he could ask the Wood-Elf what he meant, Legolas explained, “You wanted to prove yourself.”

Fingering the blade strapped to his thigh, the Adan’s frown deepened. “I am thirteen,” he said, “I am old enough to care for myself. I ran away, but I only thought to prove that I am no child.” While in comparative age, the Wood-Elf was not very many years older than he was; in actuality, Legolas was much older than Estel in both age and maturity, and so Estel felt ridiculous telling the Prince that his thirteen years made him no longer a child.

But the Wood-Elf nodded his head. “I can see that you can care for yourself, Estel. You have survived the foothills of the Misty Mountains,” he told the Adan, resuming walking. Legolas laughed, his merry cachinnation lifting the Adan’s soured mood when he realized the Prince was not patronizing him. “When I was but two-hundred years I thought I could scale the highest tree in the Greenwood,” Legolas reminisced, chuckling again at the memory. The human walked faster so that he would not miss the Wood-Elf's story; he walked beside the Elf, lengthening his stride until he could match the Prince’s pace.

Legolas grinned at the human, and Estel smiled back at the mysterious Wood-Elf’s humor. “I was quite old enough to try the climb,” the Wood-Elf continued, “but being old enough did not save me the embarrassment of finally being found that night by my father because I was too scared to climb down. I have climbed the tree many times since that day, and am not frightened to find my way back to the ground.” Looking to the Adan, the Wood-Elf watched Estel for a moment, as if expecting the human to supply the rest of the story. Eventually, the Prince chuckled again, saying, “It was not age but lack of experience that frightened me from climbing down the tree, and it is not age but experience that has guided me since.”

Thinking over what the Prince had told him, the human snickered belatedly at the hidden irony behind Legolas’ story. _A Wood-Elf afraid of climbing trees!_ Although the Silvan had not directly told Estel he was wrong to have run from Imladris, he had also not told the boy his actions were right. The cryptic advice caused the boy to comment with good-natured jibing, “You speak like Mithrandir, and give no counsel that anyone can use!”

The Wood-Elf only laughed again and gave the human a friendly clap upon the back. Feeling as though the Prince understood his predicament nonetheless, the Adan slowed his pace, walking behind Legolas. _It is good to meet an Elf who does not see me only as a human child,_ Estel decided, pleased that the Wood-Elf enjoyed his company, and enjoying the Wood-Elf’s company, as well. When Legolas began to sing again a song that the Adan knew, Estel joined him, happy to be found and to be on his way home.


	4. Chapter 4

“How did you make the fire go out last night?”

The Adan child was full of questions, Legolas had soon found out. Grimacing inwardly at yet another of Estel’s queries – which the Wood-Elf had quickly realized could begin an entire line of new questioning, making a never-ending series of hows and whys – the Prince removed his cloak and handed it to the Adan.

“I did not _make_ the fire go out,” he explained patiently, watching Estel wrap himself in the welcomed cloak against the unordinary chill of the summer’s night air. “I _asked_ the fire to go out.”

Seemingly, the child accepted this, and Legolas had to stifle a sigh of relief that no more questions were forthcoming. However, the silence of the night forest was broken by the human’s simple question, “How?”

 _At least it is not ‘why,’_ he thought sardonically, and then truly did sigh. _I had no idea human children were so inquisitive._

Legolas walked around the small clearing in which he had chosen for them to stay the night, picking up dry, broken branches and small limbs fallen from the trees above. “By asking the wood not to burn.”

Estel narrowed his eyes and peered at the Wood-Elf skeptically, which caused Legolas to laugh as he dumped his collection of firewood in front of the Adan. The human said nothing, and the Prince hoped that his answer would pacify the human, but Estel snorted, picked up a piece of the firewood, and handed it up to the Wood-Elf. “Here,” he challenged with a mischievous grin. “Let us see you do it.”

 _I suppose asking fires not to burn is hardly practical knowledge for a human to have,_ the Prince thought satirically, taking the limb nonetheless. The forthright human child had amazed Legolas: it seemed the Adan intended to spend his years in the wilds, for he had quizzed the Prince all day about the trees, flowers, weeds, and wildlife they had encountered, and pointed out to Legolas that which he already knew the names of as if to show his knowledge to the Prince.

Legolas raised his brows, grinning at the human as he sat on the opposite side of the firewood. Settling comfortably in the grass, the Prince laughed heartily at the Adan’s disbelieving glare, and explained, pulling a flint from one of his legging’s pockets, “It must be lit, first.” Estel frowned, wrapped his borrowed cloak more tightly about him, and opened his mouth to question. The Wood-Elf, knowing before the human uttered a word that he would argue with him about lighting the limb, answered, “Ah, I made no such claim! I did not promise to ask it to burn, but only to ask it not to!”

“Fine, then,” the child complained with a phony frown, his dispute thwarted, and shifted his seat on the ground in impatient agitation. “Let us see it!”

Legolas arranged the branches to his liking, and with practiced motions near to the kindling, struck the flint a few times on his pyrite rock. Almost immediately, the spark ignited the dry twigs and stems into a smoking tendril, and within seconds and with a few softly blown breaths to help it along, a flame had erupted to lick upwards along the dry kindling, eventually engulfing the pile of wood into a writhing, orange mass of flames.

His glower deepening, Estel stared expectantly at the Wood-Elf, who felt suddenly like one of the performers in his father’s halls, Elves who would amuse their brethren with sleights of hand and peculiar jokes. _I hope he does not become frightened,_ Legolas thought, apprehensive that his innate connection with the forest might scare the Adan, as he had obviously never seen such a display up close before. Estel continued to stare at him, though, and Legolas smiled – the fire went out.

Estel startled, the hem of the Prince’s cloak slipping free from his shoulders when he leant over the smoldering wood. The human prodded the fireless, lightless, and seemingly dead firewood with the end of a limb, responding with wonderment, “But you did not ask it.”

“I do not ask with words,” the Prince explained, allowing the fire to burn brightly once again when the Adan had sat back down.

Not flustered in the least anymore at the unusual display, the human, Legolas realized, did not see the Silvan connection to the woods as magic, as other humans would see it: nodding his head sagely, the Adan merely looked eager to discover more. Surprising the Prince with his astuteness, Estel surmised, “It is the Wood-Elves’ union with the forest that allows this?” Legolas nodded, and was pleased to hear that the Adan knew more of Wood-Elves than the misconstrued legends. “Since you are a Wood-Elf, are not the trees upset at you for burning their branches?”

Hiding his smile at the Adan’s serious demeanor, the Prince explained, “The wood is dead, and the trees do not mind if we gather the wood for our fire from the dead limbs and logs. It clears the forest floor, giving saplings room to grow.”

“But if the wood is dead, how does it listen to you?”

 _Oh my,_ the Wood-Elf thought with some distress, rubbing his aching forehead at the increasingly harder to answer onslaught of questions. _If he asks Lord Elrond as many questions as he has asked me, he will know all that Elrond knows before he is old enough to bear arms._

“The dead wood is a part of all things, as is the living wood, as is the rock or the water or soil, any animal or you or I. Just because it is not living does not mean that its part in Ilúvatar's song has ended. It has merely changed. One must know how to listen.” Shaking his head and frustrated at his inability to explain to the child that which he abruptly realized that he had only taken for granted, Legolas suddenly stilled his movement and thoughts.

_Something approaches._

From the distance came the distinct sound of quickly approaching feet. Wrinkling his nose as the growing stench of Orc and Warg began to fill the air around them, Legolas held up his hand and tilted his head to the side, listening intently: Estel quieted forthwith at the motion, his own time in the forest with his Elven brothers having taught him that the Eldar would perceive danger long before he would.

“You must go,” Legolas whispered, standing in one graceful, fluid action.

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After Legolas’ sudden proclamation, Estel watched the Elf become eerily still; the tranquility lasted only a moment, for in the next, the Prince had stepped over the fire, which snuffed immediately as if it were afraid to burn the Prince. Legolas yanked Estel to his feet.

“Up,” the Wood-Elf hissed softly, not giving the Adan the time to steady himself before he was pushing the human away from him and into the deeper part of the forest around them. “Go, child.”

Confused, the Adan stumbled forward and turned around. The Wood-Elf was not following him. It was clear that something foul was amiss and that Legolas did not intend for him to stay to discover what it may be, but that the Elf did not follow him disconcerted the Adan, and he asked, “What, Legolas? What is it?”

“Quiet,” the Prince chastised, though not unkindly. He pulled free his bow from its catch and an arrow from his quiver. “Run,” Legolas advised, glancing quickly behind him and tensing at the approaching beats of heavy feet, which the human could only just now hear.

A chill of fear crept up the human’s spine, and for the first time since being in the forest, the Adan was afraid of something more than going hungry. “What is coming?” He stepped towards the Wood-Elf, not willing to leave the safety of the Elf, or to leave the Elf’s safety in question. The two were strangers, but for the Adan, he had little else of familiarity in the forest save for Legolas, and his fear of facing the unknown danger without the Wood-Elf alarmed the young human.

“Run,” the Prince demanded, adding when the Adan did not budge, “I will lead them away from you and then lose them in the trees. Run west. I am sure the Noldor guard will find you before you have reached the Last Homely House.”

“I cannot find home by myself,” Estel argued, his fear mounting, as the heated, rapid footsteps of the approaching beasts grew louder. The Elf and Adan were not far from Imladris, but were far enough to be clear of Lord Elrond’s protective presence over the valley. It was not a situation the young Prince of Gondor had ever undergone.

Throwing the Adan a frightened, exasperated glare, Legolas ordered, “Run, human. I will find you after I have led them astray.”

“I can fight,” he assured. “I am trained –”

“I do not know their numbers,” the Wood-Elf explained, pushing Estel again, “and it will be easier for me to lose them without you.”

Never having left the shielding area around Imladris, Estel had never seen the foul beasts that roamed the wilds, unless one counted his encounter with them as a babe. But that incident the Adan did not recall with much detail, and so it was with dismayed marvel that Estel gripped the hilt of his short sword, tugging against the leather thong that held it to his thigh to cut it. He began, “But –”

“No,” the Prince said urgently, pointing at Estel’s sword and shaking his head. “Go. You do not have the experience to fight in battle, of this I am certain.” The Wood-Elf pushed the Adan forcefully towards the forest. “Go, Estel. There is no shame in fleeing.”

Estel stumbled again; he turned, seeing the Prince notching his arrow, letting the arrow fly. He could see nothing in the dark shadows around them but Estel heard a vile, pained scream as the arrow hit its mark.

The Wood-Elf was right – he did not have the experience and his flight was the better idea than his remaining. Estel had the youthful desire to learn, however, and it became too late for flight when the foul beasts broke through the thicket. _I am not too young,_ he said to himself, though the three shaggy, snarling, and famished-looking Wargs that leapt over the brush and into the clearing soon had him doubting this declaration.


	5. Chapter 5

The Prince released another arrow, its impact followed shortly by a hurt, angry growl; however, the Adan did not see his companion keeping the three shaggy beasts at bay to their front, for to their back came the sound of breaking underbrush and trampling feet. Whipping around and gripping his knife firmly in hand, Estel noted in fearful amazement, _They come from all sides_. Sparing a glance at Legolas, the human could see that the Wood-Elf was not yet cognizant of the Warg hastening into the clearing from behind, and Estel's body instinctively formed the defensive stance the twins had taught him.

The Warg was the most repugnant thing the young human had ever seen: its yellow teeth glistened with the copious saliva dripping from its enormous, snarling jowls, and the brown, matted hair of its body was blackened with blood and dirt. The Warg smelled, Estel noted, like rotting flesh, which, the Adan could now see in the scant light of the moon, could be due to the thick globules of indescribable fragments of meat and bone stuck in the animal’s teeth. At the moment, the human had a very clear view of said teeth – and the Warg on which they were attached.

 _Move,_ he told himself, stumbling back merely a half step at the rapid approach of the creature bounding toward him.

From behind him came a shout. “Down, Estel!”

He fell to the ground without thinking, hearing the distinctive hiss of the Wood-Elf’s arrow as it flew over his head and registering the pain of his knees contacting the roots under him. The green vanes of Legolas’ arrow blended with the forest amidst the dark, emerald leaves of the trees, but the human knew without seeing that the arrow had hit its mark, for the Warg wailed in pain as it fell onto its side. Its screech was short-lived when the deadly archer let loose another projectile, this arrow impaling the Warg’s throat.

Estel rose warily from the ground to stand on his knees, unable to tear his gaze away from the heaving chest of the dying Warg. Its blood spilled onto the forest floor directly in front of the human, its body having fallen only feet from where it would have struck the inexperienced Adan. The vermillion substance sickened the human with its coppery smell. From memories buried so deeply that he was not sure whether they had occurred or were just illusive confabulations of his past, the human recognized the aroma, remembered being covered in it and crying, and his heart was revolted by the bloody imagining more than the gurgling, dying Warg. He could hear the screams of a woman, his mother, and the shouts of the guards as they fought to save their King, Queen, and him, the heir to the throne.

This was his first time witnessing death in battle, save for the untimely demise of the many guards who had lost their lives that day when he was but a babe. Estel’s knees seemed rooted to their spot on the ground; silence seemed to whelm the clearing and everything moved slowly, including him. He was mired in memories that were as thick and cloying as a bog.

“Estel, run,” Legolas demanded piercingly, rousting the human from his enthrallment over the dying beast. Estel, relieved of his torpidity, looked over his shoulder at the Prince, stunned that the battle continued. Behind Legolas were two fallen Wargs, the Wood-Elf’s arrows jutting out of the animals’ still bodies.

The Elf faced Estel as he drew another arrow but was too preoccupied with the human’s safety, and did not see the wounded but living Warg advancing from behind him. The Adan had not the time to warn the Prince before the Warg had slammed into the Wood-Elf’s back. _No. Not again._ As Estel watched helplessly, Legolas fell to the ground under the Warg’s weight.

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The Warg’s claws first met with Legolas’ upper shoulder, where they bit into the skin of his upper neck, carving through his thick tunic and undershirt easily. The slicing digits of the vile creature slid down his back with the forward momentum of the Wood-Elf’s fall to the forest’s floor, leaving deep gouges in the Prince’s skin. As they happened, Legolas did not feel them; it was not until his chest and then his chin connected with the grassy ground that the Wood-Elf’s mind realized the searing agony of his lacerated torso.

“Legolas, watch out,” he heard the human shout fearfully, belatedly.

With the Warg’s weight atop his legs, the Prince was pinned to the ground. He still clutched his bow in his hands, but his arms were soon caught under his own chest as the Warg writhed up the Prince’s body in its effort to maintain control over its prey.

 _Run, child,_ the Prince thought but could not say, while hearing the approach of more feet.

He struggled to be free of the ailing Warg’s burden; the creature pressed him down, its claws burrowing into the Wood-Elf’s sides as it crawled to its feet. Legolas took the opportunity of the Warg’s shift in attention to try to reach the long sword strapped to his waist. He succeeded in pulling free the blade before the Warg reared up slightly, pouncing on the Prince’s already tattered shoulders and slamming Legolas forcefully into the ground again. He lost his hold of his sword and it fell to the side, within reach should he be capable of stretching far enough to retrieve it, but his hands instead sought of their own will to remove the scoring pain of the Warg’s nails biting into his shoulders again, growing ever closer to his vulnerable neck. He searched the ground for his sword, fumbling to grab the blade before the Warg could tear him to shreds. Two booted feet appeared before his limited, blurred line of sight of the forest floor – two _small,_ booted feet, which were followed by a small, probing hand.

“Leave him be,” the Prince heard the Adan scream. The booted feet moved first forward and then backwards, the hand found the hilt of Legolas’ sword, and the dim flash of the burnished blade swinging low in the night air elicited a sharp growl of pain from the Warg above him when the Elven sword cut into the animal’s hide. “Leave him alone,” Estel shouted.

Aiming for the Adan’s legs, the Warg batted the human away with one paw, causing the Adan to fall backwards in a cloud of leaves and twigs disturbed by his thrashing limbs’ attempts to remain upright. He fell heavily, and the Prince’s sword flew through the air with the human, landing beside the Adan but now completely out of the Wood-Elf’s reach. Returning her claws to her torment of the Prince, the Warg slashed at Legolas again, plowing her long nails into the Elf’s lower back when the Wood-Elf tried to rise once more. The pressure on his back increased, and the Wood-Elf closed his eyes against the pain, powerless to stop the mauling animal from killing him.

“Get off ‘im, maggot breath.”

Legolas felt the weight on his back lessen though it did not disappear. Lifting his dizzy head from the ground, the Wood-Elf blinked the haze out of his vision to find that they were not alone in the clearing any longer. Three Orcs circled the downed human, who rose quickly to his feet, seizing the Wood-Elf’s sword from the ground and holding it out threateningly, his body tense and prepared for the Orcs’ attack. The foul creatures feinted towards the human, teasing the young Adan with their greater numbers as they poked their rough-hewn broadswords at him.

“Put the blade down, human,” an Orc spat at the Adan child, smiling at Estel spitefully, “put it down, and we won’t hurt you. We promise.”

 _They have not harmed him yet, but they will._ He tried to overthrow the burden keeping him immobile. _He is an innocent,_ the Wood-Elf thought, unwilling to allow the child to die while he still breathed. He did not want to die, either, and certainly not in front of the horrified human casting worried, questioning glances at him. He could tell that Estel thought Legolas would come to his rescue even though the Wood-Elf could not even save himself.

At his right, pulling a rope tied round the Warg’s neck was a fourth Orc, the same Orc that had kept the Warg from killing Legolas a moment ago. “Caught us a pretty Elf, did you, maggot breath,” the Orc told the Warg fondly, who moved reluctantly off her catch, much to her catch’s relief. The burden of the Warg was replaced quickly with the tip of a sword bearing down between the Wood-Elf’s shoulders and a foot pressed into his injured lower back. “We’ll have fun with this one.”

“Legolas?”

The Prince could not rise – the Orcs were not known for their leniency, and any move he made would likely be his last, but he looked to the human child, hearing the uncertainty and fear in the Adan’s voice. A gash on Estel’s head bled freely, his arm had begun to waver with the effort of holding the Elven blade aloft, and the Adan could not hold back the three Orcs with the threat of violence any longer.

“Put it down,” the Orc beside Legolas told Estel, moving his sword from the Prince’s back to Legolas' neck. “Put it down or your Elf friend’ll be missing his golden head.”

“Legolas,” Estel said the Wood-Elf’s name again, looking to the Prince for guidance or assistance in what to do, neither of which Legolas was capable of providing.

The Orcs had tightened their circle around the human, who had forsaken any strategy and had begun to flail his sword-wielding hand out in a circle, keeping the amused Orcs at bay. With his eyes wild and his face paler than the sliver of moon above head, the child was clearly terrified beyond reason. _They will kill him either way,_ the Prince cogitated quickly, thinking, _he has little chance at all if I am dead._ He was taking a big risk, he knew. It might be better that he advise the young child to turn the blade upon himself, rather than to surrender to the cruel Orcs, but the Prince could do no such thing, not when there was still hope he could manage to free the Adan.

“Put it down, Estel,” he told the young human, his voice cracking with pain as the Orc smashed his booted foot wickedly onto the Wood-Elf’s shoulder. The human, it seemed to a guilty Legolas, trusted the Prince without question and dropped the Elven blade to the roots under his feet. Immediately, the Orcs surrounding the young human closed in, their yellowed eyes narrowed with hunger and delight at the two morsels they had obtained for their entertainment and dinner.


	6. Chapter 6

Estel tried to evade the contemptible Orc when it stepped forward, its hands outthrust to grab his arms, but the Orc behind him pushed Estel forcefully into its companion’s waiting hands. The human stumbled; his side ached from where the Warg had batted him to the ground and his legs were unsteady with his shock of being so close to the foul beings, and so, he fell stunned to the grass without much effort on behalf of his captors.

Quickly, he looked to the Prince lying under the largest Orc’s blade, trying to obtain some sign that the Wood-Elf could keep the fetid Orcs from touching him; however, the Mirkwood Prince could not move with the Orc’s blade to his throat, and the Orcs grabbed Estel’s arms, twisting them behind his back and causing him to cry aloud with the careless cruelty they used in binding his wrists. The anxious Warg waiting beside the Prince had sat back on its haunches, licking clean the Prince’s blood from her claws with its long, grimy tongue. It leered at the Wood-Elf and Estel with hunger.

The young human took the entire scene in with wide, vacant, and somewhat disbelieving eyes, confused at the sudden turmoil and the realization of the very real danger in which he and his new friend had found themselves. _I would give anything to be tied to a pillar in the courtyard right now,_ Estel bargained to no one in particular.

He wanted the twins to find him – or the Imladrian warriors. Not once in contriving his plot to travel alone to the Misty Mountains had he imagined being captured by Orcs. He knew that the land outside of Imladris was not altogether safe but his enthusiasm had overruled any such concerns during his planning or journey. He had also never thought his inexperience would end up costing him his life, much less someone else’s life, but watching the Warg lick clean her bloodied claws, Estel saw his foolishness had almost done just that, and may yet still result in his or Legolas’ demise.

“Tie ‘im up, Tratzk” the lead Orc said from where he stood by the Prince, pressing his foot on the Wood-Elf’s lacerated back with his mud covered, ill made boot and gesturing to the injured Legolas with the tip of his roughhewn sword.

Blood oozed across the fabric of Legolas’ shirt, staining the cloth with the sanguine liquid in stripes over where the Warg’s claws had torn the Elf’s tunic and flesh. Estel watched the Prince wince before Legolas’ gaze settled on Estel, and an emotionless serenity fell over the Wood-Elf’s face, hiding the pain that the Elf must surely have felt from the malicious treatment.

 _What will we do, Legolas?_ he desired to ask.

Fisting his hand in the human’s hair, the Orc behind Estel, whose name was apparently Tratzk, complained by shaking the young human’s head violently, yanking Estel’s hair and whining, “Can’t we just eat them now?”

“Wait until we get back to the cave,” the Orc leader replied, not allowing the tip of his sword to stray from the Wood-Elf’s neck while the two unoccupied Orcs tied the Prince’s hands behind his back. “It will take the rest of the night just to get back to the mountains.”

The Orcs, Estel guessed, would not want to delay their travel so close to the Elven realm nearby, as it would make them easy targets for scouting parties looking for their kind – it afforded Legolas and the Adan the temporary respite of being eaten alive but moved them further from Rivendell and the potential of being found. Looking to the Prince again, the human let the Wood-Elf’s composed gaze calm him, for Legolas’ tranquil, wise demeanor in the face of such hazard implored the Adan to follow his lead. _Legolas will have a plan. He will know what to do. He is a Prince and a warrior._

Sniffing Estel’s hair, the Orc behind the human laughed and whispered in his ear, “Human for dinner.” Yanking the Adan’s hair again, the Orc added, “We’ll be wantin’ to take our time with your friend, though.”

“Elf is for dessert,” came the prompt jest from one of the Orcs trussing up the Prince. The Orcs laughed, tugging Legolas to his feet to tie more coarse rope around the Wood-Elf’s neck, looping the cord into a choking collar that tightened each time the Orc pulled on its lead, which the Orc did with glee.

The smallest Orc, whose piggish and scarred face twisted into a vile frown, hit Legolas in his side with the hilt of his broadsword, earning no response from the impassive Wood-Elf, though the Prince nearly fell to his knees from the force of the blow: the Orc sneered, towing the Wood-Elf upward by the rope round his neck to keep him upright. “Stupid Elf has killed our mounts. Looks like we’ll be running.”

They picked up the human, throwing him face first over the remaining Warg’s back, his nose buried in the dank and rancid hair covering the creature’s hide. He tried to rise, to keep from being bent over at the middle across the beast and to ride it properly instead, but without the use of his hands, he could only wriggle ineffectually. The Warg smelled of blood and death, and Estel could not endure it. The beast bucked and growled at Estel's thrashing, and though the Adan could not see anything, he heard an Orc speaking to the Warg in the dark tongue of their kind, cajoling or threatening the Warg into carrying the human.

Estel trusted the Elf to help him instinctually, not considering for a moment that the Wood-Elf would merely submit to the Orcs for suffering and death. _Legolas will find a way out of this,_ the young human child told himself, trying vainly to ignore the offensive smell of the creature and the perfidious fear that the Prince and he were doomed. _Not again,_ he thought, closing his eyes against the insidious, vague memories of his first and only encounter with Orcs before now. Unable to remain still and accept his fate, Estel fought against his bonds and thought again, _What will we do?_

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Estel flailed violently about on the Warg’s back as Legolas watched from behind him. The Adan child was not wounded terribly, save for the bleeding gash on his head and what would likely be horrendous bruises on his legs and side. _We are lucky that the night grows late,_ the Prince thought, eying the starry sky, _else we would both be dead already._

“Stop moving,” the Orc leading the Warg warned the human. Estel, apparently in the throes of some nameless terror, did not heed his captor’s advice, and continued his effort to release his wrists. Without forewarning the Adan another time, the Orc slapped the back of Estel’s head and then told the child, “Squirming won’t get you anywhere but dead before we get to the cave.”

Laughing harshly, one of the Orcs added, “And we like our meat fresh.” The other Orcs joined in the jolly, spiteful laughter.

Legolas shambled his way past the Orc in front of him to reach the human, wanting nothing more than to relieve the Orcs of their wicked, hungry grins at his and the Adan’s discomfort. He had known the human child for less than a day but he did not need to know Estel for his ire to rouse at the cruel treatment of an innocent.

“Do not worry,” he whispered, struggling to stay beside the frightened child long enough to reassure him. “We will escape. But you must be still, young one.”

Turning his head, Estel’s blank stare focused on the Wood-Elf, and the Adan calmed visibly at seeing the Prince though he only stared through Legolas. “Not again,” he whispered back to the Silvan warrior.

“We will escape,” the Prince reiterated firmly, tripping in his exertion to get out of the way, as the Warg swung its head around to growl at him.

“They will kill us,” the human said, no longer bothering to whisper but mewling on the verge of terrified tears. Although he could certainly understand why the human would be scared, Estel did not seem to be in the present when he explained, “They will kill us all.”

Not sure of what the human spoke, the Prince had not the time to inquire as he was hauled away by the noose around his neck. With the Orc ahead of him constantly yanking the rope tied tightly round the Prince’s throat, Legolas could not maintain his balance. He fell again: unable to catch himself because his hands were tied behind his back, the Prince grimaced when the lead Orc pulled him up by the rope around his neck, chafing his skin painfully with the rough cord, and restricting his breathing until he had risen to his feet. The slack in the rope increased, and the Prince tried to loosen the tautened noose cutting off the air to his lungs by twisting his shoulders and neck.

The Orcs picked up their pace once they were free of the thickest of the trees and underbrush; they began to sprint. Jostling on the Warg’s back as they ran, Estel was tossed back and forth, his head banging about the Warg’s fur. Fearing that the human would fall off and under the Warg’s clawed and heavy feet, Legolas risked falling himself so that he could run beside the Warg’s back. Maintaining the distance between the Orc holding his leash and Estel, the Wood-Elf tried to remain at the human’s side to keep the Adan atop the Warg and to reassure the child of his presence, although from either fear or his head injury, or perhaps both, the human’s consciousness had left him.

Legolas’ thoughts turned to how he would get the Adan and himself out of their current predicament. It was not likely that the Orcs would untie him, at least not until they were ready for the sport they had intimated perpetrating against him.

He did not know what the Orcs had planned for him, but considered, watching Estel twist on the Warg’s back, _If we were truly lucky, the Noldor will find us before we reach the Orc’s cave._ Amending this wish, the Wood-Elf decided, _We would be lucky if the Orcs are true to their word and eat the human first. At least their appetite will keep them from tormenting him overly much before they kill him and he will not have to watch them torment me._ After a few more minutes, the Wood-Elf found himself falling to the forest floor yet again. _I should have made him flee,_ the Wood-Elf thought guiltily, trying to leap to his feet before the Orc could choke him. _I only hope that it is not too late for us to escape._


	7. Chapter 7

They had been running for a couple of hours, and though the sun was soon to rise, Legolas had found no comfort in the coming dawn, nor had he enjoyed the resplendent view of the foothills of the Misty Mountains covered in summer dew. Too many times had the Prince fallen and each time the rope around his neck would strangle him nearly unto unconsciousness. Nonetheless, each time he would stumble back to his feet.

The Warg’s discontent at having the unfamiliar rider atop her had increased from merely tossing the Adan about as though to throw him off its back to whipping its long neck around to snap her large jaws at the human. That Estel would flail in his oblivious nightmares served to irritate the Warg even more, and several times Legolas had watched the Warg’s greedy mouth nearly close on the human’s head. While the Elven warrior would normally be able to outrun the Orcs, the Prince had stayed beside the human’s side, his pace slack, to keep the Warg from killing the child if he could. Legolas had paid a high price for trying to keep the Warg from sinking its teeth into the unsuspecting human, however, as the Orc who held the rope around the Prince's throat ran more quickly than the Elda’s slowed pace. More than once the Orc had jerked the lead so forcefully that the garrote closed too tightly around the Elf’s neck, and several times the fetid creature had been forced to loosen the loop of rope just to keep the Elf breathing. Legolas feared that the Orc would grow tired of stopping and let the Prince choke to death, which meant he wouldn’t be able to aid Estel.

Again, the human thrashed and his muttering became louder. Just as the Warg turned to growl its irritation at the Adan, who still laid across the beast’s back, Legolas slowed even more to elbow the underside of the Warg’s maw. His action did not hurt the Warg but startled it enough so that it’s snapping, dripping jaws closed on air, rather than the Adan. Again, though, the Prince’s dawdling pace became too sluggish for the Orc running more quickly in front of him, and the Wood-Elf found himself falling to the rocky earth. The leash closed around his neck in excruciating tightness and the Elf’s vision went dark.

 _I hope Estel does not waken._ The garrote tightened even further when he was not able to recoup immediately the slack that permitted him to breathe, for he could not rise forthwith to his feet after falling. Still angered at himself for allowing him and the human to be caught by the Orcs, the Prince thought derisively as he struggled to rise from the ground, _I hope I do not waken, either. I do not want to watch the child die._

He would not suffer to be at the mercy of the heartless Orcs, unaware of what was occurring, nor could he leave the human at their mercy. However comforting the notion that if he were throttled into insensibility then he would not be aware of his and the human’s deaths, Legolas would not be beaten so easily. Legolas would not cease his efforts to keep the human or himself from harm, but tied, injured, and weaponless, the Wood-Elf could think of no way to see Estel and himself safely away and the foul Orcs dead.

In a vain attempt to loosen the rope garrote, he twisted his neck within the coarse rope loop that smothered him slowly, grinding his injured back into the rocks and soil under him with his desperate movements. The Wood-Elf felt the rope tighten even more as the Orc that held it yelled at him, yanking the leash as if by it he could convince the Prince to rise, “Up, Elf. You can have your rest while we are eating the human.”

 _If you do not rise, you may miss a chance to escape,_ he railed at himself, fighting the blackness that now spread throughout his mind, as well.

“Get him up, already,” one of the Orcs shouted in frustration. “The sun is almost up and we’re nearing the cave.”

The Orc didn’t act quickly enough this time: Legolas felt the creature’s claws at his neck, loosening the rope so that he could breathe, but the Wood-Elf’s consciousness, try as he might to retain it, finally fled him.

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Estel awoke with a start. He yawned lazily and moved to stretch out, feeling sore and lethargic, though he could not remember why. Nightmares had plagued his sleeping, ones that he had not had for several years, had not remembered the content of, and could not remember even now, though he had only just awoken from them. His hands, however much he tried to bring them to rub his sleepy eyes, would not budge. The human blinked his eyes rapidly instead, opening one of them to see a long expanse of stone flooring laying before him, a thick layer of dirt and more foul substances staining the rock. His awareness of what was occurring came slowly, though his mind refused to accept what his now opened eyes were telling him: _Orcs. I am amongst Orcs._

Four of the disgusting creatures stood around a heap across the way, arguing, it seemed, though over what the young Adan could not discern from their senseless shouting.

“Legolas?” he whispered in question softly, suddenly realizing he could not find the Elf. His voice barely carried to his own ears. No answer came.

 _Where are you?_ the young human worried, twisting his tied body around to see his surroundings.

Above him was the ceiling of what the Adan recognized to be a cave, behind him was a rock wall, and above his head where he lay on the floor, he discovered, were his hands, tied with coarse rope to a rusted stake driven into the wall. All of this he saw only briefly, for both his fear at being in the presence of the Orcs and the blinding light of the rising sun at the cave’s nearby entrance hindered his vision.

The human rolled back to his side to see an Orc walking to him, opening the Adan’s view of the pile of cloth around which the rest of the Orcs remained standing. A short length of rope in the hand of the lead Orc hung limply from the foul being’s hand, ending in a loop around a tangled mess of blond hair and pale skin. _Legolas,_ the Adan thought, happy to find his new friend was still with him, but then he worried, _Is he breathing?_

The Prince’s face was amazingly blue; his lips nearly matched the Wood-Elf’s eyes when they were open, though his eyes were now shut tightly. Estel’s view was blocked once more when the Orc walking toward him bent down beside the Adan, poking the human in his side with one long, clawed, and dirty finger. The poke was not painful, but Estel curled into himself, and away from the Orc. “The human’s awake!”

“Good. I like them better when they are awake to struggle. This one won’t wake up,” the lead Orc touted, giving the unconscious Elf before him a nudge with his boot.

Grinning maliciously at Estel and then licking his lips, the Orc beside the human complained as he gave the Adan another poke, “He won’t be as good as this’un. This’un's flesh’ll be tender… he’s young.”

Although it pained his sleeping, numbed arms and hands, Estel evaded the Orc’s prodding by digging his booted feet into the stone and dirt on which he lay. The human kicked himself into sitting, pulling himself away from the Orc crouching near him by yanking on his bound wrists for momentum. He huddled against the stone wall, imploring of the Prince, _Wake up, Legolas. We must escape._

“Not the human!” One of the Orcs beside Legolas whined, “Let’s eat the Elf first.

The human in question was having trouble believing his ears: _They argue over which of us to consume,_ Estel despaired, startled when the Orc beside him grabbed his leg.

“I’m hungry, let’s eat this one first," the Orc said, "then we can take our time with the Elf.”

“Let go of me,” the human cried out, flailing his leg first to remove the creature’s hand, and then striking out with his foot to hit the Orc in the chest.

His foot landed on the Orc’s shoulder, but the foul creature only laughed, grabbing the human’s foot and throwing it aside. “He’ll be fun.”

Untying the leash around the Prince’s neck, the lead Orc pushed the Prince’s shoulder, rolling the woodland being to his side. From this angle, and with the rope removed, it was clear why the Wood-Elf had been unconscious to start. A mottled bruise wound around the Elda’s throat, and the swollen flesh kept the Wood-Elf from breathing properly. “Ah, and this one’ll be no fun at all if you keep yanking on that rope, Tratzk!”

All at once, the Orcs began arguing loudly, their shouting resuming over which of the two captives would sate their hunger first. Estel scooted further against the wall, but he looked to where the Prince lay on the floor, pleased to see that the Elda was breathing more normally, his face returning to its natural color. _Get us out of this, Legolas. Please, wake up._

“Enough,” the lead Orc shouted, his abrasive voice drowning out the clamor of the others’ arguments. “The Elf’ll give us more trouble than the human. Let’s have some sport with the Elf and then eat ‘im.”

“And what about the human?” the Orc beside Estel asked, not once ceasing his eager ogling of the Adan.

_Please wake up, Legolas._

“He’s not much meat.” The lead Orc chuckled. “So we’ll have him for breakfast. Besides, it’ll be fun to hear him cry for his friend, here.”

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Legolas felt himself being moved but could not gather the interest to find out who was moving him; that is, until he heard the easily recognizable voice of an Orc saying, “I don’t want to wait until breakfast. I’m hungry for the human now.”

“You’ll wait, Rhanz, or we’ll be having you for breakfast instead,” came a commanding voice close to the Prince. Abruptly pulled from unconsciousness by the instant fear of being in the company of Orcs, the Wood-Elf opened his eyes to find himself staring up into the piggish face of one of the disgusting creatures.

“On your knees, Elf,” the Orc spat, pulling the Wood-Elf’s hair to compel him into kneeling on the cavern floor. His hands, already tied behind his back, were yanked upwards by his wrists until Legolas was forced into leaning forwards to relieve the lacerating pain of having his arms bent beyond their flexibility.

“What’ll we do to ‘im first?”

“Don’t know,” the Orc holding Legolas’ wrists replied, their conversation casual. Heaving the Prince’s wrist up even further, which caused Legolas to arch his back upwards, the dark creature suggested, “I say we give the human a show. I like to hear the young ones scream in fear.”

The other Orcs obviously approved of this pastime, for they laughed wickedly their agreement. Unable to stop himself from falling forwards, the Wood-Elf felt his head connect with the stone floor under him when the Orc behind him pushed him to the ground. He only noticed that the Orcs had cut his bonds when they began to retie his wrists. It took all four of the Orcs to keep him from writhing out of their grasp: he lashed out at them, knowing that this could be his last chance to escape, for this might be the last time his hands would be unbound.

Blinding pain erupted from his back when one of the Orcs raked its claws across the open, bleeding wounds there. The Warg had left the Wood-Elf’s back shredded enough already, and the Orc’s treatment intensified the nauseating pain the wounds caused the Elf. He stifled a scream and tried harder to pull his wrists free from their grasps, but the Orcs soon had his wrists bound again. They hung him by threading the length of rope through an iron stake they had driven into the cave’s short ceiling – the four Orcs then stepped back, grinning at their handiwork and the Prince trussed up for their sport.

Legolas could now see the human huddled in the corner. Estel was watching, his silver eyes were wide and his mouth hung open in fear and shock; the Wood-Elf wished he could reassure the frightened young Adan that all would be well, but when the Orcs had finally secured his hands above his head to their satisfaction, Legolas was quite certain that nothing would be well, not for him, and likely not for Estel, if he didn’t soon find a way out of this for them both.


	8. Chapter 8

Estel watched the Orcs standing around the Wood-Elf, feeling somewhat ashamed at his immense relief: he had thought the Orcs would wish to torment him first, but since they had decided to find their entertainment with Legolas instead, the young human could not help but feel glad that he was not the center of the foul creature’s attentions. When the Wood-Elf had struggled against the Orcs, the Adan had fully expected that Legolas would free himself, despite his being without weapon and sorely outnumbered. He had also expected the Wood-Elf to save them both, and though Estel had not been conscious during their journey to the cave and thus did not know for certain, it was clear that Legolas either had not had the chance for escape, or had been physically incapable of doing so. Even now, with the arguing Orcs surrounding him, the dangling Prince smiled faintly at Estel, trying to comfort the human although he must have been frightened.

 _If Legolas can find no way,_ the human despaired, jerking fruitlessly against his rope bonds, _then how can I hope to find escape for us? We are doomed._ Drawing himself tightly into the corner in which his hands were bound to the stake in the cavern’s wall, Estel folded his long legs under him, at ready to flee, if he could only do so.

As Estel watched, the smallest of the Orcs reached out to Legolas, smearing the blood on the Elf’s forehead onto the tips of its fingers. The Wood-Elf did not even flinch, though the bloodied gash, made only moments earlier by the Prince’s head bouncing against the floor when he had been pushed to it, appeared very painful to the human.

Sticking his fingers into his mouth, the Orc licked the Elf's blood clean from them, saying, “Whatever’s left of this one will give to the Warg,” he said, “for catching 'im.”

Nauseated by the Orc’s actions, the Adan pulled against his bonds more aggressively, chafing his wrists in their ropes in his vain attempt to be free of them. _They will actually eat him,_ the bewildered Adan thought. He had heard of such things happening to Elves, Edain, Dwarves, and other beings, but they were tales told to him by Elrohir and Elladan in hushed voices and without Lord Elrond’s knowing, and not events that Estel had ever thought he would witness.

He had never seen an immortal die outside of the healing halls, nor did he ever wish to do so, and the thought of seeing the Prince tortured and eaten at the hands of the Orcs made the Adan tremble with alarmed revulsion. That the Elf hanging by his wrists before him was a stranger, albeit a benevolent stranger he had happened across in the forest, did not make the idea of watching the Prince’s death any easier. And, of course, the vile suggestions the Orcs were making for Legolas heightened the Adan’s extreme unease. The past day he had spent in the Wood-Elf’s company had been the most pleasant time he had spent in a long while, and his remembrance of Legolas’ ready acceptance of his adulthood, in question by the twins and other Elves in Imladris, had already endeared the Prince to the young human.

 _Now I only act as a child,_ he reprimanded himself. _I should be trying to free us, rather than waiting for Legolas to find a way for us to be free._

“How best to break him?” one of the Orcs asked, scratching its head at the apparent conundrum of having an Elf at their mercy and no viable solutions to the Elda’s torture. “We could just lash him,” he suggested, “that would make him scream.”

Shaking his head, Rhanz, whose tall and broad frame moved to stand between the human and thus barred Estel’s view of the Prince, countered angrily, “That’s too easy. Let us break every bone in his body, one by one.”

“He’ll pass out before we’ve gotten past his knees.” Seizing one of the Wood-Elf’s legs, Tratzk gave it an experimental wrench: the Prince kicked at the Orc with his other leg, earning him a swift punch to his lower back. Not even a flicker of discomfort passed the Elf’s face. “Let’s flog him.”

“Fine,” the dominant Orc acquiesced stubbornly, crossing his arms over his chest and his grimy tunic, apparently believing it best to appease the rambunctious group of Orcs he controlled. “But no whips. Not yet. Let us break him slowly.”

The Orcs around the Prince grinned with glee, their anticipation of the Wood-Elf’s ruin causing the young human huddled in the corner to breathe more rapidly, his efforts to be free quickening, heedless of how the cord bit into his wrists as he tugged them harshly. _We have to get out of here,_ he thought. _I have to find some way to get out of these ropes._

Taking a filth-coated dagger from his waistcoat, the Orc began to cut away the impediments to reaching the Elf’s light skin. His bow, quiver, and knives had been left with Estel’s short sword and the rest of their belongings at the location of their capture, but the remnants of the leather straps that had held the quiver to his back, torn as they were from the Warg’s sharp claws, were the first to be removed.

Noting that none moved to help him, the leader growled, “Don’t stand there, fools. Find something we can use… and come back quickly.”

Estel watched the smallest of the Orcs scramble away, moving farther into the cave in search of a suitable object with which to beat the Prince. As Rhanz began to remove the Prince’s tunic and undershirt with his dagger, the absent Orc finally returned with a long, green, and flexible sapling’s branch. _They will whip him with that?_

The human’s fear lessened somewhat: he had expected much worse, and so too had the lead Orc apparently, for he grabbed the thin branch from his underling’s hand, inspecting it with a fierce frown. “It’s a twig.”

“You said we’d break ‘im slow,” the smaller Orc whined, cowing under the lead Orc’s dissatisfaction.

Rolling his eyes and sneering, Rhanz handed the puny limb back to the submissive Orc and then sidled to Estel, sitting next to the human with an ungraceful flop. “Give us a show already!” he snapped, anticipating his companions' tormenting the Wood-Elf. Estel labored to pull his hands free at the closeness of the grinning, foul Orc. Swatting at the stressed young Adan’s head, which Estel ducked easily, the Orc told him, “Don’t worry, human. You’ll get your turn.”

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The first strike of the thin green branch against his lacerated back caused the Elf to start. He did not cry out, however, not even when the first strike was followed by a second, and then a third. _Do not let them see that it pains you,_ he told himself, unwilling to admit any weakness in front of the Orcs. The sting of the young sapling was not the worst pain he had ever felt: in fact, it would not have hurt much at all, had not his back already throbbed as the skin torn by the Warg’s claws was lashed with each blow of the lean limb.

Moreover, Legolas did want to alarm the young human who stared at him expectantly, understanding that Estel was looking to him for some indication of both how to act in front of the dark creatures and also for reassurance that they would soon be free. That the Prince was quite sure at this point that neither of them would live much longer did not stop him from trying to provide the Adan with both: he thought, twisting away from a blow that lashed around his ribs, _If I can get them to untie me once more, then we would have another chance at escape._ He cogitated on this dilemma, unsure as to how he could get the Orcs to release him. _They will not untie me until I am unconscious or dead. They will likely eat me as I hang from the ceiling!_

Rhanz had endured enough of his underling’s incompetent effort at eliciting screams from Legolas, for he huffed loudly. “You act as if you had never tortured an Elf before!” the lead Orc said, climbing to his feet from his seat beside the scared Adan. The subordinate Orc shuffled out of his leader’s way, allowing him access to their captive. He picked up a small pebble from the floor and threw it at his fellow Orc, saying, “Beat him with this, then, idiot.” With the largest Orc in front of him, Legolas tried to kick out once more to move the Orc, to dislodge the Orc’s nails as they raked a pathway down his ribcage, where they gouged Legolas’ skin and flesh easily. “Or perhaps you should leave it to an expert.” The Orc behind him grabbed Legolas’ legs, keeping him from kicking Rhanz, who merely licked his lips. “Get some bigger sticks, idiots. The young human’s flesh will be soft, but so can this one’s, if we tenderize him.”

Legolas heard the Orcs around him laughing, and then heard them scuttling about the cave as they sought better tools for their torment. The radiating agony of a much thicker, stronger, and less pliant branch hitting his left shoulder caused the Wood-Elf to inhale sharply, and the momentum had the Elf swinging languidly, painfully back and forth by his wrists, though the pain was obscured when another blow landed on his lower back, and then another to his side. His thoughts of how Estel was watching his torture caused Legolas to look at the young Adan.

The child was on the verge of tears, his wrists were bleeding freely from trying to loosen the rope tied round them, and the Adan was paler than the white haze that drifted over the Prince’s vision when a limb hit his ear. Each of the Orcs had a branch, and each of them helped in beating an excruciating rhythm on the Wood-Elf’s torso, arms, and legs.

Without much effort, the Silvan warrior began to drift from the pain this new torment gave him. He wanted very much to remain conscious but could feel himself losing this battle. With their impromptu clubs, the Orcs beat the Wood-Elf, careless as to where they hit him and only holding back the force of their blows so not to render Legolas unconscious. The idea of dying did not scare the Prince; at least, perhaps as not as much as it might others. Legolas was a warrior and had long ago known that he might die in battle; however, he did not wish to die like this, and he could feel the fear of a prolonged and futile death creeping over him, stealing away his resolve to remain stoic in the presence of the foul creatures.

 _Pretend you are unconscious. Maybe they will leave you be,_ he told himself, inspired by necessity to choose a course of action in hopes of their escape, or at least for time to think of how to obtain their freedom. Letting his head fall forwards, the Elf kept his body slack and his breathing low. He stifled the grunts and moans of pain that threatened to slip past his lips as the uncaring Orcs continued their entertainment.

“Enough,” Rhanz demanded, grabbing Legolas’ neck to lift his head from where it hung lifelessly on his chest: the Orc’s hold on his neck pressed the bruises on his throat and it took all of the Prince’s will not to cough in response to not being able to breathe. “He’s already out cold.”

“We didn’t get no screams out of ‘im,” Tratzk complained. Opening his eyes so slightly that the Wood-Elf could barely see through the fringe of his eyelashes, he noticed the Orc leader frowning at him, and then another Orc moved into his sight.

The small, piggish Orc withdrew the knife at his belt, holding it before the Prince’s lidded eyes as he grinned, exposing his row of rotting green and yellow, putrid teeth. “I think he’s playing dead. And if he ain’t, then we’ll just take a little off his side, to see how tender he’s gotten.”

 


	9. Chapter 9

Estel held his breath without realizing it, his feeble attempts to free his hands of their rope bonds ceasing, much like his heartbeat seemed to, when the Orc threatened to taste the Elf’s flesh. He watched with rapt and disbelieving horror as the sharp, grimy knife the small Orc held slid down the Wood-Elf’s ribs, opening a long gash in the Prince’s side. Immediately, the wound began to pour blood, the slash opening with the same ease as water spreading under one’s finger.

_He will get an infection from that dirty blade,_ the young human thought, and then berated himself, _Infection? I hope Legolas lives long enough for infection to set in!_

The Orc holding the blade gave a disappointed grunt, his scheme to rouse the Wood-Elf apparently not working. “I still say he’s fakin’.” Snorting in frustration, the piggish Orc carved callously another shallow line in the Elf’s exposed side by the first one, digging the point of the blade in the Prince’s side with a vicious twist, while keeping his inquiring glare on Legolas’ passive face.

“Not so much as a squeak! Stupid Elf,” the lead Orc complained, driving his fist into Legolas’ midsection, and adding insult to injury when he yanked down on the Prince’s body.

Even from across the cavern, Estel could hear the distinct noise of the Wood-Elf’s shoulder coming free of its socket, and the Adan winced at the grating, popping sound. He had once had the same injury while tussling with Elrohir, knew it hurt, and likely hurt even more so since the Elf was still hanging from the dislocated arm.

Yet, the Prince did not moan, or even so much as flinch. _Let him still be alive,_ the human hoped, aware that the beating the Elf had just endured may well have injured the Prince’s internal organs, broken the Elf’s neck or back, or could have caused any among many possible injuries such a thrashing might bestow. Estel did not know much of medicine, but he had helped Lord Elrond in the healing wing of Imladris often enough to know that life was fragile, even for an immortal.

“Is he breathing, Tratzk? Check him.”

One of the Orcs put his foul hand on the Prince’s neck, lifting the archer’s face up so that he could peer into it to determine whether the Wood-Elf was still alive or not. _Please do not let him have died,_ the Adan thought, his stomach sinking at the thought that he may have witnessed his new friend’s death before ever truly knowing the Elf.

“He’s still alive, just out cold,” the Orc said, releasing the Prince’s head so that it fell back down, Legolas’ chin resting on his chest.

_Thank Ilúvatar!_ With this good news, Estel’s good spirits at seeing the Wood-Elf was well dropped when he realized, _But Legolas is unconscious. I will have to find a way out for us._

The smallest Orc shook his head at their captive, suggesting, “Let’s just eat ‘im. I’m hungry.” Licking the blood from his knife, the Orc appeared ravenous as he said, “He tastes good.”

The Adan suddenly saw what the Orcs did not. Although the Prince’s body hung limply from the bonds, his lids tightly shut, his breathing low, and though Legolas had shown no reaction to the Orc blade gouging at his flesh, his hands were clenched tightly around the ropes above his head. So firmly fisted were they in holding the cord binding him that the Wood-Elf’s fingers were white and the muscles of his arm twitched almost imperceptibly for the stout effort. It was a small thing to notice, and Estel hoped with all his might that he was not imagining these things.

_He is not unconscious. He is pretending._ Amazed at the archer’s ability to maintain his composure while the small Orc had literally carved into his flesh, the young Adan wondered why the Elf would fake such a thing. _Perhaps Legolas has a plan!_

“No, we don’t eat this one yet,” their leader ordered, sliding his dagger free from its place at his belt to cut free the Wood-Elf, who suddenly seemed to relax his hold of the rope when the Orc's attention turned to the Prince's bonds. Again, the Adan hoped he was not imagining the Prince’s signs of awareness. “I want to hear this one scream for mercy. He’ll wake eventually.”

Together, the Orcs helped Rhanz cut the rope that held the Elf aloft, leaving the captive’s hands bound. They then tossed Legolas across the cave, cursing and spitting at him for ruining their sport. _They will torture him no longer,_ the human thought, his relief revived now that the Elf would not be hurt further. Unexpectedly, Estel’s excitement that Legolas had escaped further torture, or death, fled him once more with the realization, _If they do not have the Prince to torture, they will torment me instead._

As if hearing the human’s thoughts, the Orc leader turned to Estel, motioning with a nod of his head in the Adan’s direction as he ordered his companions, “Guess we’ll just have to find our fun in this one.” Legolas’ ruse had ended his own torment, but begun the human’s, and Estel had the sinking suspicion that this may have been the Wood-Elf’s plan.

_Legolas will save us,_ he told himself, not willing to believe that the Prince, whom the Adan had grown fond of in the short time he had known him, would save himself from immediate death only to have Estel take his place instead.

The Orcs walked to Estel, smiling, while one bounced his club in his hand, beating his palm with it as he licked his lips. “Looks like your friend gets to be dessert,” Tratzk mocked the human child, towering over him with his fellow Orcs. “It is your turn now, human.”

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For a terrifying moment, the Prince had been sure that the Orcs would not care that he was supposedly unconscious, and would eat him alive where he hung. The pain of the small Orc’s blade cutting his side and the terror he had felt to be so close to his own demise, to be eaten, had overwhelmed the archer until he had been sure he would scream aloud. He had only managed to retain his ruse of unconsciousness out of sheer desperation.

However, Legolas now cursed himself as he lay on the floor: his ploy had worked, and his torment ended, but they had not untied his hands for even a brief moment, and now they intended to begin their torture of Estel instead. After a moment, he dared to open his eyes halfway to see what was occurring across the cavern with Estel.

_Think of something, and quickly,_ he told himself, trying to unravel the ropes tied around his wrists. He did not want to risk catching the attention of the jeering Orcs. _At least when they hung me they tied my hands in the front,_ he thought, considering how he might use this to his advantage.

The young Adan kicked out when the Orcs approached him, his booted feet landing several hard blows against the dark beasts as they tried to subdue him, but it was not long before the outnumbered human had his legs caught by the Orcs. They each held an arm or leg as the lead Orc used his free hand to cut the rope connected to the stake – they did not cut the rope around the human’s wrists, leaving the smaller being without any recourse to attempt escape by fighting. Estel did not try to remain calm in the face of the Orcs intent on torturing him before they ate him: the Adan writhed in his bonds, twisting and flailing against the hands holding him.

“Legolas!” the Adan called out, screaming as the Orcs carried him to the center of the cave and hefted him upwards to tie the rope around his bound wrists to the stake driven into the cave’s ceiling.

His heart leapt into his throat at the human’s fear. _I cannot just lie here, listening to Estel cry for help._ Chancing the Orcs finding him mobile and conscious before he had thought of a way to escape, the Prince opened his eyes completely so that he could ascertain where all the Orcs were standing and if any of them were armed.

Three of the foul beasts were gathered around the human, helping to hold the Adan while their leader tied the youth to the stake, before they moved back, letting the child’s body fall heavily into its ropes. When Estel cried out in pain, Legolas could take no more of the child’s anguish, and so he quickly looked about him for a weapon. Fortunate for him, the arduous ordeal of fooling the Orcs into believing him unconscious had been convincing, and none even bothered to look his way while he scrambled to his knees, reaching for a blade one of the lax Orcs had leant against the cavern wall. His dislocated arm would not move properly, and so as he tried to grab the hilt of the heavy sword, it clattered to the rocky floor.

The Prince tensed but did not move in hopes they had not heard him, and amazingly, the Orcs did not seem to notice the noise, for Estel’s cries of pain and terror echoed through the cave, drowning out all other sound. He desperately needed the benefit of surprise to kill the beasts. However, when Legolas tried to gain his feet, he found himself at a disadvantage when his battered body could not obey him. He fell forwards, catching himself with the hand on his dislocated arm.

_Wonderful, Legolas,_ he scolded, biting his tongue to hold back a moan of pain and blinking his eyes rapidly to clear them of the black tendrils of insentience that threatened to take over his vision.

His misstep caught the eye of the Orc closest to him, and suddenly, Legolas found himself to be the center of attention. Staring at him in surprise, the Orcs' jaws seemed to drop in tandem, their confusion giving the Wood-Elf the opportunity to rise to his feet, though he wavered on them, while the cave seemed to tilt around him in waves of shadow and grey rock. Rhanz screamed, “Get him, maggots!”

The smallest Orc ran forward, leaping at the Prince as if to tackle him to the ground. Legolas swung the heavy sword through the air in a downward arc, the blade connecting with the Orc’s piggish head with a deafening crack of bone. His body reeled from the painful jolt the impact gave his wounded arm and the agonizing stretch of his bruised and lacerated ribs. Another Orc ran at him, using more strategy than the last one, as this Orc had his sword outthrust and ready to impale the Wood-Elf. Sidestepping the attack easily, the Elven warrior dropped to one knee and threw his leg out, tripping the Orc as it recovered from its miss. Before the Orc had even realized he had fallen, Legolas drew his borrowed weapon over the Orc’s neck, slitting the beast’s throat.

Still kneeling, Legolas leant on his side against the rock wall, endeavoring to calm his rapid breathing and ameliorate the vertigo his every movement caused. _I am concussed,_ he decided in absentmindedness, watching the human swinging from the ceiling and seeing Estel’s frightened face.

“Behind you,” the Adan called to him, and without looking for the danger of which the human spoke, Legolas pushed against the wall, rolling away from it just as a sword came crashing to the rock where he had just been.

With a growl, the Orc hurried to pounce on Legolas as he lay on his back on the cave’s floor, but the Wood-Elf rolled again, nearly losing his sword in the process as he attempted to flee the beast’s blade. The Orc caught the Prince’s foot in one hand and jerked, pulling the archer along the ground back to him before Legolas could escape. The Orc snarled at the warrior, stood over the Silvan with his sword in both hands, and brought the sword straight down to plunge it into the prostrate Elf's chest.

He deflected the attempt with his arm, feeling the blade slice through his forearm, though it saved him from being pierced upon it. As the Orc’s body came forwards with the momentum of his downward swing, Legolas lifted his own sword from the ground in a swift flash of motion. It skewered the Orc cleanly, and the dark beast looked flabbergasted for a brief moment before he toppled to the side. Immediately, the Wood-Elf stood, pulling free the sword from the Orc to face the final dark creature.

“Don’t move, Elf, or you friend here gets my blade in him.” The lead Orc, Rhanz, who had stood back while the other Orcs fought against the Wood-Elf, had cut the human from the ceiling while Legolas had been fighting the last of his companions, and was now holding the human before him by his throat. The Prince stumbled, the blood from his sliced forearm running down over his hand, making his hold of the Orc sword a precarious one.

_Now what will I do?_ The Orc blade at the human’s side worried the Prince; it would not take much for the beast to kill Estel, but the Elda could not think of how to get the Adan away from the Orc.

“He is not my friend,” the Prince said, thinking, _Maybe he will let Estel go if he thinks I intend to flee without him._ Trusting that the Orc would want an Elf more than an Adan, especially now that Legolas had killed Rhanz’s fellow Orcs, the Prince added, “He is a child, and a human. I care not if he dies.”

“You sure ‘bout that, Elf? You didn’t seem so willing to let him die earlier.” Yanking the Adan back against him, Rhanz pressed his forearm against the young human’s throat more tightly, demanding of the Wood-Elf, “Drop the blade, and tie yourself back up while you’re at it… unless you want me to open the human’s belly.” The Orc poked at Estel’s stomach with the tip of the blade he held in his other hand, laughing in the human’s ear as the child coughed out a cry of alarm.

Estel tore at the Orc’s constricting arm with his hands, choking as he pled with the Prince, “Please. Help me.”

“I do not care,” the Prince said, holding the sword out with his good arm, sidling along the wall of the cave and towards the entrance. He had to convince the Orc that the human was nothing to him: he could not let Rhanz use Estel as advantage against him, not if he wanted to get the Adan safely away from the Orc. “Open his belly,” the Wood-Elf offered generously, trying his best to sound unconcerned. “He is just a human.”

The Orc watched the Prince with interest, jerking Estel up further by the arm around his throat and cutting off the human’s air. “You’re going to flee and just leave the human here?”

“I am free, that is all that matters,” the Prince replied, backing out of the cave slowly. _Leave him and follow me. He is a child. You do not want him._ “You can have the human for all I care.”

Legolas was sure he would not soon forget the heartbroken horror on the young Adan’s face: the wide-eyed, frightened, and bewildered Estel had obviously fallen for the Prince’s ruse of being unconcerned for his fate, as well, and as he struggled against the arm pressing against his throat, told the Elf hoarsely, “You can’t leave me here. Please.”

He could not have known it, but the child was making it extremely difficult for Legolas to maintain his lie. _Please understand,_ Legolas wanted to tell the Adan, _that I do not mean what I say._ Aloud, though, he replied to the Orc, “Kill the human. He is nothing to me.”

Estel tore at the Orc’s constricting arm with his bound hands, coughing while beseeching the Silvan, “Legolas, please. Help me.”

“He even knows your name,” Rhanz taunted, winking one horrendous dark eye at the Prince as he jabbed at the young Adan’s stomach once more.

_No,_ the Wood-Elf thought, realizing that the Orc, though not the brightest being he had ever met, was smart enough not to believe in Legolas’ uncaring attitude. His attempt to lure the Orc away from Estel was failing – Rhanz would not be fooled again, and Legolas had no other plan on such short notice. _Come after me, you vile bastard, and leave him be._

Grinning wickedly, the Orc told Legolas, “If you don’t want him, then you won’t mind me killing him first, before I kill you.” The Orc chuckled, and then drove his dagger into the young Adan’s belly.

  
  



	10. Chapter 10

_I_ _am dreaming again_ , the young Adan told himself. The Orc had removed his arm from around the human’s throat, giving Estel the opportunity to look down at his pained stomach. The hilt of the Orc’s blade jutted out from his tunic, the filthy handle twitched as the Adan stumbled forward, pushed out of the Orc’s way with a violent shove to his shoulder. Time moved very slowly for Estel as he fell to his side, his hands wrapped tightly around the hilt so that it would not twist or shift during his fall to the dirty floor of the cave. _This is not happening. This is a dream._

From the corner of his eye, the Adan could see the Orc’s foul, blackened boots running past where his head had come to lie on the floor. Too late did he try to move out of the Orc’s path, and when the Orc rushed past him, the human was kicked out of the way, the blade in his belly jarred as it scraped across the cave’s floor. Estel’s world went decidedly black. He heard a terrified scream of pain, and when realizing the horrified cry came from himself, the Adan tried to stop it.

_Get out of here, Estel,_ he told himself. _Let them fight. I must flee while they are occupied._

Estel rubbed at his eyes with his tunic, trying desperately to restore his vision: he had not stopped crying out in pain. Suddenly ashamed at himself for his fearful yelling, the human breathed in deeply, and finally found the source of his inability to see – he was breathing too quickly and soon he would pass out if he did not calm himself. With the clash of swords as they struck each other and the rocks of the cavern resounding through the enclosed space around him, Estel forced himself into breathing slowly and soon found he could see again. What he saw, however, made him wish for the blackness of unconsciousness to take him.

The injured Wood-Elf had fallen at the cave’s entrance as he tried ostensibly to escape without the human. Estel saw Legolas trying to evade the Orc before he could reach where he lay, but the wounded Prince rolled the wrong way in his confused and desperate attempt, and met the rock wall to his side. The Elf had no escape: the Orc was upon Legolas with a loud growl and a cloud of disturbed dust and decay at his quick movement. As the young human watched, the Orc held his blade against the Prince’s throat and had his booted foot on the immortal’s wrist, grinding the Wood-Elf’s hand into the floor until Legolas released the sword he had used to kill the Orc’s companions.

“Elves,” the Rhanz spat, drawing his blade up the Wood-Elf’s exposed chest and splitting the skin there in a shallow mark. “You are all the same…”

_Legolas does not care whether you die or not, why would you care that he lives?_ he asked himself.

Instinct took over, despite his certainty that the Elf had betrayed him to the Orc to save his own hide, and the young human tried to stand, if only to distract the disgusting beast from its quarry. Unarmed and not at all sure he should be helping the Elf who had planned to leave him to the torment of the Orc, Estel crept to his feet, one hand on the hilt still lodged in his stomach while with the other he held the wall beside him.

_There must be a weapon here somewhere,_ he thought, looking frantically around the cavern for anything he could use; however, his mind reeled at the thought of approaching the other Orcs' cooling bodies, which held their swords even in death, and he could not bring himself to touch them.

“…your kind is weak,” Rhanz was telling the Wood-Elf, his blade hovering over the panting and bleeding Prince’s chest. Estel could hear the laugh in the Orc’s voice as he rammed his foot onto the fallen archer’s side, grinding it into the bleeding flesh there and taunting Legolas by telling him, “You’ve killed the others, but that just means more Elf flesh for me.” Raising the sword in the air, Rhanz told the Wood-Elf, “Your human friend I will give to the Warg to play with.” The Elf tried to heave his wrist from underneath the Orc, but Rhanz had stepped on the wrist connected to the Prince’s dislocated arm: the Wood-Elf’s attempts to free himself of the Orc’s weight upon his wounded side were futile… and painful. The Elf was trapped.

Estel seized the hilt of the dagger jutting out from his belly, biting his lips to keep a wail of agony from escaping them as he stumbled the short distance to the Orc and Prince, yanking free the short blade from his stomach as he walked. The Orc laughed pitilessly as the Elf tried to squirm away from the impending downward path of the sharp blade aimed for his chest: the young Adan, knowing that he would not reach the struggling Prince or murderous Orc in time to stop Legolas’ death, flung the blade, which dripped with his own blood, at the Orc’s back.

Falling to his knees from the lacerating pain in his wounded belly, the Adan watched the knife fly through the air, turning hilt over blade, and for one brief moment, he feared the hilt, and not the sharp tip of the dagger, would strike the Orc. However, his aim had been true, and luck on his side, for the short knife embedded itself cleanly into the Orc’s lower back.

Rhanz stumbled forward, let loose a bleat of shock, and took his foot off Legolas’ wrist and the other foot off the Prince’s injured side. His sword, however, maintained its downward path, but the Wood-Elf, suddenly freed of the burden pinning him to the floor, writhed and kicked with his feet until he had pushed himself flush with the wall. The Orc’s sword glanced off the archer’s shoulder blade as Legolas rolled, leaving a superficial gash of blood behind it, but it met the unyielding ground instead of Legolas’ chest. The Orc, recovering from the surprise attack from the rear with an annoyed growl, kept from falling and turned around, his sword still in hand, to glare at the Adan.

Estel looked around him again, searching for another weapon, though he knew he would find nothing else, for the only blade within reach had been the one the Orc now pulled from his back with a smirk. Rhanz looked at the dagger, which dripped with the black blood of the Orc as well as Estel’s claret essence, before he tossed it to the side.

“Shouldn’t’ve done that, human,” Rhanz told him, leering as he hobbled forward, swinging the sword he had in hand out towards the Adan. The Orc walked towards Estel, temporarily forgetting the Prince behind him as he advanced on the human who had dared to interfere with his tormenting the hated Wood-Elf. “Should’ve died like a good little boy.”

_This is not happening,_ he told himself again, scrambling to his feet before the Orc could reach him, fleeing further into the recesses of the cave to avoid the lumbering dark creature. _Let me wake._

The human watched the Wood-Elf spring into action. Picking up the Orc sword Rhanz had forced him into releasing, Legolas leapt at the Orc’s legs, felling Rhanz before he could reach the Adan. As the Orc fell to his knees only an arm’s length in front of the retreating human, Legolas toppled Rhanz by driving the handle of the sword against the Orc’s skull, and then drove the long blade into the Orc’s back, twisting it with a vicious cry before letting loose the hilt. The Orc fell onto the ground, his face contorted into a grimace of confused pain, before his face hit the rock floor with a dull thud.

_I am back in Imladris, sleeping._ The Wood-Elf was kneeling over the Orc, having never risen to his feet, and staring down at Rhanz as if afraid that the foul being would rise again. _Please let me wake._ Estel closed his eyes and put his back against the wall behind him, sliding down it into a crouch.

He opened his eyes and the Prince was suddenly close to him, shuffling forward on his knees, speaking to him – the young human could not hear what the Wood-Elf told him. The rushing sound of his heartbeat in his ears was the only sound he could hear, save for his own voice, as he pled with the Prince, “Leave me alone.”

Legolas was trying to hurt him, to finish the job the Orc had begun, or so the human’s muddled mind told him. The Adan could not decipher which, but from the Prince’s disavowal of friendship earlier, the human decided he did not care. He could not trust the Elf. “Stay away from me,” the human told the Silvan.

Unable to move away from Legolas as he approached, the Adan grabbed hold of his stomach tightly and tried to roll to his side, to rise from the ground again. Hands held him, and he twisted to face the Prince, screaming as he kicked out, his stomach balking in pain at the movement, but he managed to land a blow against the Elf’s dislocated shoulder.

The Wood-Elf cried out, letting go of the human’s leg to grab his shoulder instead. “You told him to stab me,” the Adan whispered brokenly, watching the Prince become paler as Estel kicked out again, this time striking the archer’s bare and bloodied side, the one from which the small Orc had attempted to taste the Elf’s flesh and Rhanz had just been crushing beneath his boot heel. Although he could not hear the Prince’s moan of pain, he could see it in Legolas’ graying face.

“You are not my friend, leave me be,” he cried out softly, taking advantage of the Prince’s momentary loss of attention to snatch the archer’s injured arm, yanking it, and with it pulling Legolas to him even as he kicked out a final time. With the momentum of the Elf falling forward against the young human’s foot thrusting to meet his battered ribs, Legolas fell limp to the ground before Estel, all the air having rushed from his abused chest and his consciousness fleeing him – this time not as a lark.

Estel looked at the Wood-Elf: the pallid being was covered in bruises and blood. _He does not exist. This is a dream,_ he tried to convince himself, unwilling to believe that the awful memories of death and pain he had long ago hidden deep within his mind could be happening in his waking.

Estel sat for a moment, his hand never leaving his injured belly, as he watched Legolas’ labored breathing. _Legolas is not here. He is safe somewhere. He did not tell the Orc to kill me, because I am not here. I will wake up,_ the Adan said, nodding in agreement with his vindication of hurting the Prince. But the smell of the blood seeping from his belly hit his nose and a fresh wave of pain assaulted him; with a sob of distress, Estel finally realized, _I am not dreaming. One does not smell blood in dreams. One does not feel such pain in dreams. Legolas wished me to die, and I will die here in this cave._

Tears welled within his eyes, rolling over his cheeks. Estel drew his gangly legs to him, hugging them to him with one arm. _I do not want to die. I want to be back in Imladris, tied to a pillar in the courtyard,_ he cried. Although his relationship with Lord Elrond and his Elven sons was usually a strained one, the Adan wished that he were with them now.Closing his eyes against the tears there, Estel found he could not open them, and before long, he had not the strength to try.


	11. Chapter 11

He took stock of his injuries, checking his legs first with gentle stretching movements. When he found he could move them without much pain, the Wood-Elf tried his arms next, swiveling one and then trying the other, but his second arm protested this movement, and he quickly gave up the endeavor. _What has happened?_ Legolas could remember being on his way to Imladris, traveling over the Misty Mountains, and meeting a young Adan on his way. _Estel_ , the Wood-Elf suddenly remembered, opening his eyes despite his body’s desire to keep them shut. _The Orcs. Oh Valar, we were caught by Orcs._ The abrupt, repugnant vision of the Orc’s short blade entering the Adan’s stomach gave the Wood-Elf the impetus to forgo the comfort of semi-consciousness, and he recalled every horrifying detail of their ordeal with clarity. _Estel needs a healer,_ he told himself. _Where is he?_

Legolas had been unconscious for only moments. The slightest movement of his body nauseated him, but he tried to rise anyway. Hesitantly, he rolled to his uninjured side, quickly assessing the rest of his injuries. Luckily, though the Orcs’ battering had been brutal, no bones were broken and no permanent damage was done, although the bruises went deep and pained him as he shifted on the ground. The intense pain in his shoulder had receded to a dull ache – the young Adan’s violent outburst had an unintended effect, for when Estel had pulled the Prince’s arm forwards while pushing the Wood-Elf concurrently backwards with his kick, Estel had reduced Legolas’ dislocated shoulder, replacing the bone of his upper arm within the socket.

 _No wonder I have passed out. But thank Eru,_ the archer thought, drawing himself into sitting and groaning as the lacerations on his back from the Warg’s claws and those from the Orcs’ blades were disturbed. _I doubt I could have managed it by myself._

He began to look for the human immediately; his search was short, for Estel was nearby, crumpled against the wall and ground of the cavern. Crawling to his knees, the Prince cradled his injured arm to his side, scooting along the filthy rock floor to where the human lay. His eyes closed, his lips parted slightly in his deep sleep, and his hand lying slack over his wounded belly, Estel appeared peaceful, the tormented child no longer rampaging in his indignant and fearful attempts to flee the Prince.

“Estel,” he whispered, and then wondered why he bothered to speak softly: the Orcs were dead. Pulling the Adan’s hand away from his stomach, the Prince worried at the human’s tunic, lifting it from Estel’s belly so that he could see the wound.

 _The blade was short, and the wound at an angle, so I do not think it is fatal – but that does not mean he could not be seriously injured,_ the Wood-Elf decided. He had treated wounds before, but usually only to staunch bleeding before an experienced healer could take over. They had no such luxury right now.

Speaking more loudly, the Silvan called sharply, “Estel, wake!” When the Adan moaned, moving his head slightly on his arm, Legolas thought him to be waking, but Estel remained insentient.

 _We cannot stay here,_ the Prince thought, scanning the cave, though for what he didn’t know. The Orcs were slain and the two travelers were out of immediate danger, but Legolas knew he was forgetting something. _It does not matter,_ he told himself, hobbling to his feet and then across the cavern to obtain his tattered undershirt from where the Orcs had tossed it to the ground. As he leant against the cavern wall, enjoying the cool rock against his back, which seemed to be afire with agony, the Prince held the cloth in one hand and tore it with the other, making several long strips. _We must leave. I need to remember the path we took here so that we may return to the clearing for our weapons and supplies._

Two of his strips he tied into a loop, fastening the ends together and then hanging it over his neck – this he used as a sling to keep his injured arm from moving. Another strip he tied quickly around the gash in his forearm, by far the worst gouge in his flesh, even more so than the superficial but painful lacerations from the Warg’s claws. The last strip of cloth he took with him to the Adan, and sinking to his knees beside him, lifted the human’s tunic again, slipping the end of the thick fabric under Estel to pull it around his waist.

 _These Orcs have no herbs and Estel will need medicines,_ the Wood-Elf told himself, struggling to remain upright when the pain-induced vertigo turned the dark confines of the cave into spinning images. _But I cannot travel with him. I cannot carry him._

Legolas did not know what to do – if it were just him, the Prince would travel onwards, taking his chance in reaching Imladris, for he could jump into the trees and be lost from any danger, as long as he stayed in the woods. With the human, however, the Prince would not have this prospect for escape. Sitting back for a moment, the Prince pondered: he could not think clearly, for his mind was clouded with fear for the human and the agony of his injuries.

 _If we could only make it to the forest around Imladris. We would at least be safe from the Orcs and Wargs and … Wargs._ The archer remembered now what he had forgotten. _The Orcs had one remaining Warg with them. Where is she?_

Leaving the Adan where he lay, Legolas crept to the front of the cave, the bright light hurting his eyes, when normally he would have welcomed the sight of the beautiful mountains after being in the dim light of the cave. It hurt to move, much less to try to move quietly, but the Prince would not give the Warg any notice of his approach. When he came to the entrance to the cave, Legolas pressed against the cavern wall, trying his best to stay in the shadows. Scrutinizing the surrounding land, the Prince was not surprised to see the Warg in question lying under an outcropping nearby, her back turned to them in her slumber.

 _Wonderful,_ the archer thought without rancor, seeing that his arrow still stuck out from the Warg’s side. _The tendency of Orcs to care for themselves more than others has had one advantage: the Warg is injured and untreated, which should make our escape easier. If Estel can make it to the trees, I will lead the Orc away. I just hope Estel can walk._

Unsure of how best to distract the Warg, the woodland warrior tried to think of another advantage that might enable him to defeat the beast, for though Estel’s safety was foremost in his mind, he doubted the human could walk all the way to Imladris, injured and without supplies. _But I do not know if I can kill it, injured as I am,_ Legolas despaired, eying where the Warg lay, apparently unaware or uncaring in its light slumber that her masters were dead. _I will just have to take this chance._

Shambling back to where the human was resting, Legolas grabbed Estel’s hand, patting the limb. “Wake. Estel, I need you to wake, please.”

Moaning, the Adan turned his head away. “Leave me alone,” the Adan whispered, pushing at Legolas’ hands holding his.

“No, Estel, you must walk. I cannot carry you and we cannot stay here.” Legolas raised the child's torso slowly from the cave floor, wincing when the human moaned again in pain. “We must leave, Estel. Do you not wish to go home, to Imladris?”

“Home?” the young Adan echoed, his eyes fluttering open for a moment, and hope shining therein.

Holding the child up, Legolas leant him against the stone wall to adjust the bandage he had tied around the human’s belly. “Yes, Estel. To Imladris. You must trust me.”

“No,” Estel decided, his voice more firm, and though the Wood-Elf was pleased that the Adan could muster the strength to be so firm, he would rather it have been in agreement with him, rather than in opposition. “You told him to hurt me,” the Adan whispered, his voice becoming softer as his eyes slipped shut, his pale face contorting into a frown that appeared to Legolas to be somewhere between tears and violence in its meaning. “You were leaving without me.”

“I have not left you, have I, Estel? I have stayed here to help you.” _He thinks I have betrayed him,_ Legolas reminded himself, gathering an explanation for his actions that the injured and clearly confused human could understand. “I was tricking him, Estel. I was trying to help you.”

When the young Adan scooted backwards, away from Legolas, the Wood-Elf swerved his torso away from the human instinctively as Estel moved, not wanting to be the victim of the Adan's attack once again. He did not want to injure Estel further by restraining him, but Legolas did not intend to be on the receiving end of Estel’s misplaced anger; his own injuries could not sustain it. The quick motion, though, sent the Prince reeling forward farther than he had meant to move, and he fell to the ground, catching himself with his hands before he fell face first into the floor.

“You are hurt,” the human said expressionlessly, as if telling the Wood-Elf it was sunny outside.

“I am, yes, Estel. But that is unimportant at the moment,” he said, smiling at the young Adan as he told him, sitting upright again with difficulty, “The Orcs are slain, Estel, thanks to you. You have saved my life.”

Not appearing at all pleased that he had done this, the Adan gave by way of explanation for his actions, “The Orc would’ve been after me next.”

Legolas could not hide his mirth at the child’s reasoning, for although it was practical, it was not very heroic. _He may have given his trust easily when first we met, but now I will have to earn it._

“That is true, Estel, but we are not out of danger yet. The Warg is outside,” the Elf told his human friend, and then was ashamed of himself for scaring the child when the Adan became wide-eyed again and brought his hands to cover his face, their wrists chafed and bleeding from the coarse rope the Orcs had used to bind the human.

“We will all die,” the human cried, shaking as he tried to curl up against the wall. “I do not want to die.”

“Estel, I will keep you safe,” he told the child, aware that he may not be able to keep this promise, should the Adan not agree to his plan. “But the Warg is outside. She is asleep, and while she is still sleeping, you must sneak down the incline to the forest. I need you to hide amongst the trees until I come to find you, Estel. If I do not come, you must travel on to Imladris.”

All the while the Prince had been speaking, the Adan was shaking his head in negation, which in turn made the Wood-Elf even dizzier. “I cannot run.” Screwing his face up in worry, Estel appeared much more aware as he asked, “Why are you not coming?”

_He does not want me around, but he does not want to be alone._

“Because I will distract her should she wake,” the Wood-Elf explained, forcing himself to remain patient with this new onslaught of questioning. “I need you to walk to the forest as quickly as you can while I distract her.”

“And then what?” Estel stopped his withdrawal from the Prince, and taking advantage of this, Legolas placed a hand on the child’s arm in hopes of showing the human he meant him no harm. “What will we do then?"

Legolas frowned. _I am not sure,_ he told himself, averting his eyes to keep this from the human’s knowledge. Rubbing his bruised and aching throat absently, the Wood-Elf looked to the door. _But if we do not act soon, the Warg may wake and find us before we can flee._

“The bow,” the Adan said, pointing towards the entrance of the cave, and then cried out when he stretched his arm too far.

“What is it, Estel? Are you hurt elsewhere?” Legolas, afraid that he had missed another wound on the Adan’s body, one that he would not have seen inflicted while pretending to be unconscious, kept the human from moving any further by grabbing Estel's upper arms.

However, the young one shook his head, cried out again, and then gasped. “My stomach hurts.” Because Legolas could do nothing for the child’s pain, he merely nodded in unhappy knowing. “The bow,” Estel told him again when the pain had waned. “We could kill it with the bow.”

 _Bow?_ The sudden hope that the Orcs had brought his bow with them sprang within the Elf, but it was squelched when he saw the black bow lying against the wall at the cave’s opening. He had not been hopeful because it would do him any good to have a bow; no, Legolas had just desired not to lose his weapon.

Sighing, the Prince told the Adan, “I cannot use it, Estel. My arm is injured.”

“I could do it,” the human offered, trying to crawl to his knees with quiet gasps and grunts of pain.

Glad to see the child able to move, Legolas let Estel rise to his knees, though he stopped him from standing. “No, Estel. You will aggravate your wound by using it,” the Prince argued, nonetheless appreciating the child’s acumen. “But I will give it to you to take with you, to use if you have no other choice.” _Just in case I do not make it to the woods with you._

Satisfied, at least, that he would not be unarmed as he traveled, Estel scowled but nodded, and stood with the Wood-Elf’s aid. “But what will you do, Legolas? How will you distract the Warg?”

“I will wait her out while you flee to the forest, and if she should wake, I will be here for her to attack.”

Not pleased by this explanation, the Adan only said, “Let us hope she does not wake.”

“Yes, Estel, we will hold to hope to aid us.”

 _If he finds his way to the woods, and it pleases you, Eru, let him also find his way home,_ the Prince prayed.

Helping the human to walk, Legolas nearly laughed at the child, despite their pain and desperate situation, when Estel claimed, apparently not yet forgiving the archer’s misdeed of letting the Orc stab him, “I only agree to this because I could not flee alone.”

“That is well, Estel,” he soothed, attempting to support the Adan’s weight even as he used the child to support his own balance. Stopping only to collect the bow and quiver as he walked, handing it to the human and selecting the lightest of the Orc swords nearby for his uninjured arm, Legolas mused, _Whatever gets us out of this cave and to Imladris…quickly._

 


	12. Chapter 12

If he were currently in the business of being honest with himself, the Adan would have realized that he truly did not understand what was occurring around him. Once Legolas had mentioned that a Warg was outside, waiting to attack them once she awoke, Estel had thought about little except the horrendous, nauseating smell of that animal, the same Warg he had been forced into riding on his way to the small cave, the one from which he now fled. He wanted to be out of the cave full of dead Orcs, and away from the Warg.

Young Estel wanted to be home.

Although he now followed the Elda’s hasty plan, Estel was not sure he trusted the Wood-Elf. What Legolas had told him – that the Prince had been trying to trick the Orc, rather than truly trying to leave without the Adan – had seemed valid enough. _He did not leave me,_ the Adan thought, beginning his slow walk down the hillside. _Now he plans to fight the Warg alone, should she wake, while I escape. He is more injured than I am, but if he wished to escape without me, he could._

Measuring his steps, watching with intent eyes for loose rocks or other debris that might obstruct his path, cause him to stumble, or create a ruckus sure to wake the sleeping enemy, the human thought, _Even if I make it to the trees, I would never be able to escape the Warg should Legolas die, or if he were otherwise not able to stop her. The Warg would find me in the forest easily enough._

The fear this thought inspired made the human stop in his step and turn around gradually to see what he could of the Prince and the Warg. Legolas had crept his way closer to the beast than Estel would want to be to a Warg ever again. The Orc sword the Elf held steady in his hand as he waited before the animal, standing halfway between where the Warg lay asleep and where Estel had stopped walking. The Prince was far enough away that the Warg’s path to Estel could be impeded and that the Warg would not be roused by the smell of the Elf’s blood, but not so close that the Elf would be within easy reach. Should the Elf try to gain more ground on the Warg, the beast would surely pick up the odor of the Elf’s essence being so close to her, for it covered his torso, else Legolas might have merely pierced the Warg’s heart as she slept.

After a few more minutes of slow, cautious progress, again the human stopped walking, turning back to where the Prince stood before the Warg. The incline was sharp but not far from the base of the small foothill on which the Orcs had made their home in the cavern. _Even should Legolas kill it, or I kill it before it reaches me, I cannot find my way back to Imladris without him._ Despite his fear that the Elf had betrayed him, the Prince was not betraying him now: in fact, Legolas was risking his own life without hesitation to see that Estel would survive.

He began his slow descent again, dizzy with the lack of air as he held his breath to hear the sounds he made while walking. _Why would he lie about trying to trick the Orc? He could just as easily have left me here to face the Warg alone, or left before I had even woke._ When he had nearly reached the line of brush at the edge of the forest, Estel stopped, this time for good. He was not in the trees as the Prince had instructed; he waited on the fringes, unwilling to leave the Silvan without seeing for himself what occurred. _He should have come with me. We could already be in the forest._ The human was well aware that the Prince had not come with him because he wanted to see the Adan safely to the woods, regardless of the consequences to himself.

From where he stood, even this far down the hillside, Estel could see the Prince’s injuries were severe. Although Legolas’ arm was within a sling, the young human had no idea how the Elf had taken care of his dislocated shoulder, nor how the Wood-Elf managed to hold the Orc blade when his bicep was bleeding, as the shoddy bandage the Prince had placed over it was crimson with seeping blood. While most of the Elda’s back, sides, and arms were covered in the light red welts of being beaten with branches, some of these marks were less welts than bruises, and they lined along the Elf’s flesh to create a crossed pattern with Legolas’ other wounds. Along the Wood-Elf’s ribs were two deep scores where the Orc had threatened to taste the Elf, and on the Prince’s back were the gouges made by the Warg’s claws, covered in debris and filth from the cavern’s floor. Estel’s own pain was enough to make him wish to find the nearest patch of soft grass and lay there, waiting for help or for death, and so he was awed by the Prince’s stamina.

Legolas looked back to where Estel stood watching, giving the Adan a disgruntled scowl; Estel knew the Elf was displeased that he had not fled to the sparse trees leading to the much deeper forest. Estel also knew what the Elf wanted; that is, for the young Adan to flee and leave the Prince to face the Warg alone. He was not leaving the Elf: taking the bow in hand, the Adan pulled free one of the black arrows from the quiver he had been given, and settled it on the cord. Legolas shook his head and pointed to the woody area behind the human.

Suddenly, the Warg moved – Estel could hear the beast’s soft growl as she rolled to her back, lying with her paws and legs stretched lazily up to the rock overhang above. Immediately, the Wood-Elf turned back to the beast, crouching with his blade in hand, as he prepared for the Warg’s attack. No attack came, for the Warg merely settled further into her position, yawning slightly as she remained in her light slumber.

Little by little, the Prince walked backwards, away from the Warg and the danger he faced. Elves were light of foot, this much Estel knew well, for the Eldar with whom he lived would always sneak up on him, although not usually intentionally – unless it was the twins. Many times the young Adan had been caught doing something he should not because he had not known of an Elf’s approach. Therefore, it was without sound and without uncertainty that Legolas began to walk down the hillside, his gaze constantly on the Warg and his step sure amongst the loose rock and dirt there.

_Come on, Legolas._ The archer seemed to float down the hillside, so slowly did he amble. _Hurry._

Just as the Elf was nearly down the incline, the Warg rolled once more, though this time she rolled onto her wounded side, forcing Legolas’ arrow, still stuck in her thick hide from their encounter the previous night, further into the bleeding wound. With a great howl of agony, the Warg struggled out from under the outcropping, her wails of pain causing the hair on the Adan’s arms and neck to stand on end as the sleeping beast finally awoke.

“Go, Estel,” the Prince yelled, never looking to the Adan, and drawing the human from his thinking; his shout culled the Warg’s attention to the Wood-Elf, which was just as Legolas had intended.

The Elda stood his ground, his sword held out and his feet planted firmly in the rocky soil as the Warg, shaking her head and prowling warily from the plateau of the hillside, realized that the Elf she had almost had in her possession earlier could be hers now. Glaringly yellow and disgusting, the bared teeth of Warg seemed to smile at the Prince, and Estel observed the foul beast’s sudden change from sleepy, pained animal to aware, hungry hunter.

_I can’t let him fight this thing alone,_ the Adan thought, seeing that the Warg was crouched low, advancing slowly towards the Elf, as if unsure why the stalwart but injured Wood-Elf wasn’t running for his life.

_I can do this,_ he decided, raising the bow. _If nothing else, I can divert her attention to give Legolas a chance._

However, before he could pull the cord back to aim, the Warg’s slow advance became a run, and the beast took off down the incline and towards the Wood-Elf. Vainly, the Adan tried to pull back the cord of the bow, but this bow was not the same as the small bow to which he was accustomed, but a stronger weapon requiring greater strength. As he watched, as he yanked with all his might on the thick gut string, the running Warg began to slide down the hillside, its front paws clawing at the ground in surprise as the rocky soil shifted under its weight, sending a crashing wave of stone and dirt before it.

The Elf still held his ground but looked back briefly to Estel, taking his attention away from the tumbling Warg long enough to shout, “Run!”

Horrified, the Adan watched as the Elf lost his footing in the roiling stones, even his Elven abilities failing him when standing on the ever-shifting ground. Legolas fell to his knees without a sound as he slid with the rocks further down the incline. He retained hold of his sword, but the Elf could not stop his own plummet down the hill and would not be able to fend off the Warg.

Estel backed away from the onslaught of stone, the Orc bow held tightly in his hand as he realized, _Legolas will not be able to kill it. I have to do something._

The small landslide had stopped, the rocky earth and loam ceasing soon after it had started, but the damage was done, for the Elf had lost not only his balance, but also whatever advantage he held over the injured Warg. Struggling to rise, the Wood-Elf stumbled as he came to his feet, his sword ever out before him as the Warg jumped, pouncing upon the ailing Silvan before he could raise his sword to fend. Falling backwards under the Warg, Legolas writhed against the earth, letting loose a cry of pain and surprise as the Warg’s weight ground his much-abused back into the rock. Sparing the human only a cursory glance, the Warg atop the Prince snarled at the Elf, the drool from its hideous mouth glistening in the morning sunlight while Estel endeavored with all his might to use the Orc weapon.

He could draw the bow, but not enough for the arrow to travel far, much less to puncture the Warg’s hide. _It is too much,_ the Adan thought, horrified that he could not help the Wood-Elf and even more so as the Warg’s jaws snapped close to the wriggling Prince’s neck. _It has to –_

With a hiss from Estel as the effort of drawing the cord back wrenched his wounded stomach, and a similar hiss from the black arrow that sped forth from his fingers upon releasing his shot, the still air became filled with the screaming howls of the Warg when the arrow hit the back of the beast’s neck.

Estel pulled free another arrow from the Orc quiver he had looped over his arm, and had it notched on the bowstring, prepared to try again to kill the Warg, when the Warg’s howling suddenly ceased. Looking up from his fumbling hands, the Adan saw the beast crumple to the side, its blood gushing out from its neck, though it clawed ineffectually at the sword stuck in its throat as she fell.

The Prince lay unmoving on the ground: his chest heaved, evincing to the Adan that Legolas still lived. Dropping the bow and quiver, the human ran to reach the Elf’s side as quickly as his wounded belly would allow. The Elda had his eyes shut tightly, his arms splayed out.

“Legolas!” the young Adan cried, falling to the ground beside the Prince. The Warg still breathed, its blood still gushed, and the proximity of the Warg to where he and the Prince were caused Estel to take hold of the immortal's hand, standing as he tried to pull the Elf into standing as well. “Wake up, Legolas!”

When Estel pulled at the Prince’s hand, Legolas assured the human, opening his eyes and glancing beside him as he said, “She will not rise, Estel. She will die.” Legolas grunted as his injured arm was jarred, accepting the Adan’s help in rising from his prone position on the rocks, only to remain on his knees. The pain was not enough to keep him from chiding, “I told you not to use the bow unless you had no other recourse.”

The Adan let the Wood-Elf lift his tunic, exasperated that the Elf was checking on him rather than caring for himself, and he was no longer as suspicious of the Silvan as before, for though the Prince had no reason to want the human to die, he had no reason to want the human to live, either. _He cares that I am hurt,_ Estel decided, waiting patiently as the Wood-Elf tightened the loose bandaging around the human’s belly. _He is not angry that I have disobeyed him. He is angry that I am hurt... that I have hurt myself further._

The Elf, not at all aware of the Adan’s silent cogitations, began to fuss at the human, telling him, “It is no worse than before, or not that I can tell, but that does not mean you should have done what you have done. You should have run, Estel.”

“Had I not disregarded your instruction, the Warg would be eating you for breakfast,” the young Adan told the Elf blithely, somewhat angered at the Prince’s patronizing tone.

His eyebrows high upon his bruised forehead as he stared at the Adan in surprise, the Prince sighed. “You are right, Estel. I am sorry,” Legolas admitted, rising to his feet with another pained grunt. Pebbles and dirt now clung to his sticky, bloody back and sides, though he had incurred no greater injury from the Warg’s pounce. “Thank you. You have saved my life twice today, even though you have not trusted me while doing it.”

“And you have saved mine, at least as many times,” the Adan returned. Abruptly changing the topic, for his mind was on the subject of trust, Estel asked as the Wood-Elf led him away from the dying Warg, “You would not have fled, leaving me to fight a Warg alone, would you, Legolas?”

Frowning, thinking that the Adan was once more speaking of his unsuccessful plan to keep Estel from harm earlier, the Wood-Elf began to explain, “I promise you, Estel. I did not intend to leave you behind. I know that it did not work, but I was trying to trick the Orc into –“

The young human interrupted with an annoyed shake of his head, as he spoke grabbing the Wood-Elf’s forearm to keep the Prince from falling when Legolas' body began to sway, “That’s not what I meant.” He merely repeated, not wanting to acknowledge that he had been wrong in not trusting the Elf by having to explain that he now believed Legolas’ excuse, “You would not have fled, leaving me to fight a Warg alone, would you?”

Legolas’ frown grew, and he rubbed at the claret on his forehead, frowned even more at his bloodied hand, and then wiped his hand as clean as he could on his filthy breeches. “No, Estel. I would not have let you fight alone.” As the young human smiled smugly, the Prince exhaled with frustration, saying, “Is there a point to this conversation, young one? I would like to be free of these mountains, return to our camp to fetch our weapons and supplies, tend to your stomach wound, and be in Imladris as quickly as possible.”

Momentarily forgetting the pain of his belly, the ache of his head, and the remnants of fright that still held him bound in the terror of what he had thought to be his certain demise, Estel pointed out, “You would not have left me to fight alone, but you expected me to leave you? That is hardly how friends treat each other.”

At once, the Prince smiled, his dirtied and haggard face lighting with genuine, albeit poignant amusement. “Friends? So you do not doubt me, then?” Legolas hobbled forward, turning to make certain that Estel followed him, “I am sorry to have asked you to flee, Estel.” Seeing that the Adan was trailing him slowly through the brambles and small evergreens lining the rocky slope before the forest proper, the Elf told him, “You are right – friends do not forsake each other in times of trouble, or cause each other harm.”

Estel felt the hot flush of humiliation rising up his neck, staining his cheeks red: he hated apologies, and was glad that the Elf was walking ahead of him and thus could not see his embarrassment. _Get it out,_ he told himself, no longer following the Elf but switching his weight from foot to foot, as he squirmed his aversion to apologizing.

“I am sorry that I hit you,” the Adan blurted, surprised that he had spoken. “I thought you would try to kill me. I thought it was a dream,” he added in a rush.

The Prince’s smile did not falter, but the gleam of amusement in his blue eyes became one of understanding, and of sympathy. “Do not worry over it, Estel,” the Wood-Elf told his human friend, placing a hand on the Adan’s shoulder to lead the child through the thicket. “You were wounded, and frightened, as any in your position would have been, and right to think I would harm you. We hardly know each other,” the Elf said, adjusting the bloodied Orc blade he had slid into his sling for keeping. “Although I must say, Estel, you and I make a good team.”

In spite of his pain and fear, the idea of being considered by the Prince as a peer, and not as a child, made Estel beam his pleasure at the compliment.

The Prince’s hand felt heavy on Estel’s shoulder: the Wood-Elf, perhaps without realizing it, or perhaps because he did not wish Estel to know how injured he truly was, used the human surreptitiously for balance as they walked. _He is lucky to be standing,_ Estel thought, eying the Wood-Elf from his peripheral vision.

The Silvan hesitated, appearing as if he had much to say, but then continued succinctly, not speaking what he had intended, “Let us get out of the open, and then we will rest.”

Estel chanced to smile. They were safe: the Orcs and Warg were dead, the forest lay before them, and though injured, for the first time since being captured by Morgoth’s ugly and disgusting perversions of Eru's creations, Estel felt optimistic. It was almost too much for him, to have been as close to death as he had been, and then to be free of it. _You are not free of death,_ the Adan scolded himself, watching Legolas stumble ahead of him into the forest, _and neither is Legolas, if we do not soon find our supplies, or someone to help us._

Holding his aching stomach with one hand and the Orc bow in his other, Estel followed Legolas through the shrubs and trees, trusting the Wood-Elf to guide them home. _At least I will have a tale to tell when tied up in the courtyard,_ he teased weakly, though he then had to admit when seeing the Prince’s gruesome injuries and feeling his own weakness at the loss of blood and trauma of his ordeal, _Or, I will have a tale to tell_ if _we can make it to Imladris._


	13. Chapter 13

It was not like the Elven Lord to fidget, but Elrond had no audience, and thus no qualms about his restless motions: he tapped his quill against the blotter, splattering the indigo ink across the parchment without rhyme or reason. It was well that he had no audience, for the Imladrian Lord was on the verge of panic, an emotion he had not felt for centuries– at least, not since Elladan and Elrohir, when returning from a visit to Lorien, had been caught in the thick of the winter on the High Pass. Even then, however, the esteemed Lord of Rivendell had hidden his anxiety from most of those around him. The reassurances of his advisors had not resolved his concern, and nothing had eased his fear for his twin sons except for their eventual return, tired and hungry, although both had been uninjured.

He could feel Elladan and Elrohir. They were his sons, and as such, Elrond was certain he would know immediately should some ill befall them. Nevertheless, Estel was not his son, not by blood, though he loved the human child as his own, and the Lord of Imladris could not perceive whether the Adan still lived.

Again, he tapped the inked quill on the blotter, watching the splatter of the liquid against the cream-colored paper. _It has been ten days,_ he thought, swiping the pointed end of the feather across the dots of ink and spreading the liquid around in absent circles. _And he is only thirteen. He is already headstrong. Ten days. If I had known he would run off without my leave, I would have locked him in his room…or tied him to a pillar in the courtyard._

If his adopted son’s disappearance was not enough strain for the Imladrian leader, he had received a message by way of one of King Thranduil’s carrier pigeons that a Prince of Mirkwood, Legolas, was expected to find his way to Imladris. As all missives sent by bird tended to be, the letter was short and without detail. Elrond only knew that Legolas would arrive within the week, should he not have been delayed. So that he could take his mind off Estel’s disappearance, the Elf Lord had taken it upon himself to plan a banquet for his friend Thranduil’s son, though it was not normally his duty. The parchments before him had been his pitiful attempt to plan this welcoming feast for the Prince. Amongst the patches of ink that had soaked through the papers and whatever scribbles the Elf Lord had made as notes to give Erestor concerning the banquet, Elrond had mapped the area from Imladris to the foothills of the mountains, using it as a guide for his thoughts of where Estel might be.

_Ten days. If he followed the path that he showed me when he asked to go, then he would already have reached the mountains, and would be returning. But they have not found him._

When first it had been noticed that the Adan child was missing, the twins had left to seek him by themselves, having lost all of the night and most of the day since Estel had left, and thus giving the human nearly a full day’s head start. They had thought they would find him easily, and it was not until Elladan and Elrohir had not returned that Elrond had sent warriors to find all of his sons. Of course, the twins had been fine, but were still searching for Estel.

Elrond held no doubts that his twin sons would find the Adan but as each day passed, Estel’s tracks became harder to follow: while the twins sought their adopted brother’s path, the human’s prints had been lost repeatedly, and no other signs of his passing could be found. It took more time to follow the Adan’s tracks than it had taken Estel to make them. Even time itself was their enemy, as the longer it took the searchers to find the human’s tracks, the less likely they would find fresh markings indicating where the human had gone, or worse yet, the less likely they would find any tracks at all.

_Elrohir and Elladan have taught him much about the forest, but not enough to keep him safe. Not enough for him to survive ten days alone._

The hard breathing of one who had been running, quiet but audible only because the day was young and few Elves ventured in this hushed wing of the Last Homely House so early, told Elrond someone approached. “Enter,” he called to his visitor, knowing before the Elf had even knocked that it would be one of the captains of the Imladrian ranks come to inform him of the search for Estel.

“Your sons have sent word, my Lord,” the captain told Elrond without preamble, walking quickly to stand before the dark-haired leader as he spoke.

The captain breathed deeply, catching his breath. Covered in dust and smelling of horse, the broad warrior had apparently run straight from dismounting to Elrond’s study. The half-Elf could read nothing from the concerned, tight smile the warrior offered, and could not guess whether this update would bring better news than the last.

Bowing deferentially, as if having just remembered his manners, the captain explained, “Young Estel’s tracks are found again, my Lord, but they have become confused. According to Lords Elrohir and Elladan, Estel is not running from them. He heads west. Your sons think he is trying to return, but has lost his way.”

_He is trying to come home._ Elrond picked up the quill from where he had dropped it on the desk, dipped its end in the ink, but then caught himself before he could begin tapping it against the blotter again. The relief of knowing that his sons had found the Adan’s path once more relieved some of the Imladrian’s anxiety, but not all of it. _It is good news that Estel is trying to return, but he is still lost._ He had hoped that the young Adan would continue along the path that he had proposed to travel when first Elrond had denied the human leave to traverse the forest, for it would make finding him easier. Now, Estel had apparently forsaken this course, and was now wandering the woods and foothills of the mountains. _He is alone. He is without weapons. He did not even procure food for this foolhardy journey, as far as we know._

“My Lord,” the captain interrupted, breaking Elrond’s thoughts. The Elven Lord turned his attention to the warrior before the massive desk behind which he sat; he followed the captain’s gaze to his own hands, which had taken to tapping the quill against the parchment once more. Shifting uncomfortably where he stood, the usually stoic warrior appeared petrified to complete his report, but continued, “Lords Elladan and Elrohir believe that Estel has met someone in the forest, and travels with him.”

He threw the quill to the desk, inquiring, “Met someone?” His panic renewed, Elrond sat back in his chair, though he desired nothing more than to sprint to the stables, to join the search for the troubled youth he had taken as his own. “What leads them to believe this?”

“Your sons have trailed Estel’s tracks to a campsite, my Lord. The site was nothing more than a dead fire and the bones of a rabbit. However, Lords Elladan and Elrohir think that it was not Estel’s catch, for the shaft of a broken arrow lay beside the skin and fur, though its arrowhead was missing, and they did not recognize the fletching.”

Elrond did not need the reasoning behind his twin sons’ conclusion: when they had first learnt that Estel had fled Imladris, the twins had searched the young human’s room themselves for clues only to turn up that all of Estel’s weapons were accounted for, save for a short blade. Estel did not have his small bow and arrows with him, and thus it would not have been him to fell the rabbit. It seemed certain that the Adan had encountered a stranger. “They are following the tracks? Where do these tracks lead?”

“I am not sure, my Lord,” the warrior admitted, adding in a rush, “for they found only one pair of tracks leaving the area, Estel’s tracks, and no struggle had taken place. Lords Elrohir and Elladan believe that the stranger is helping Estel.”

_No struggle has occurred,_ he mulled over. _Estel must be following this stranger willingly._ Seizing the quill from his desk inattentively, the Elven Lord replaced it with the others in the stone jar beside the bottle of ink, and then straightened the stained parchments on which he had been splattering ink. His mind tried to organize his thoughts, even as his hands sought to do the same to his desk. _Only one pair of tracks leaves the campsite. Estel’s tracks. Even should Estel have come upon the campsite after its owner had left, there would still be another set of tracks leading away from the camp. Unless the traveler Estel has come across leaves no tracks._ However, this did not make sense, not when the stranger had left tracks on his way to the campsite.

Aware that the warrior watched him, waiting for his dismissal or more questions, Elrond mused sarcastically, arranging a tome on his desk so that it sat parallel with the blotter, _A creature who hunts with a bow… and apparently one whose feet need not touch the ground._ Elrond laughed mirthlessly at his own thoughts, earning him a worried frown from the Elf standing before his desk.

“You are free to leave, captain,” he told the warrior, desiring the warrior to depart before he could evince by his odd behavior just how truly troubled he was, “but keep me informed.”

The captain bowed, “Of course, my Lord.”

Elrond maintained his composure until the warrior left: he then plucked the feather quill from its jar, dipped it quickly in the ink, before he began tapping the quill mindlessly against the parchment on which he ought to have been writing plans for the Prince of Mirkwood’s welcoming feast.

_Ten days._

It was no time at all for an Elf, but the last ten days had seemed an eternity to the worried father. Smearing the ink across the hastily drawn map of the area between Imladris and the mountains on the blotter, Elrond drew meaningless shapes in the thick liquid as he cogitated upon this new development of Estel meeting a stranger.

_Where are you lost, young one? And who has found you?_

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As they walked, the Wood-Elf tried to remember the path the Orcs had taken to the mountains. Were they only seeking Imladris, the Elf was sure he could find their way to the valley, and thus to safety. However, the Wood-Elf wasn’t faring well at all, and he knew that traveling to Imladris with nothing more than an Orc sword he could barely lift and a bow that because of his injured arm he could not use, and one that the Adan could barely pull back, would be too dangerous. They also needed Legolas’ supplies, water, food, and to find shelter – but at the moment, the Prince needed to rest. He could not continue another step.

The human fared little better, though it was less from the quantity of his injuries and more from the horrid quality of the single wound he had sustained. Estel had remained quiet during their journey: Legolas could not imagine what the Adan was thinking, but the youth was growing progressively more withdrawn. The happy and questioning Adan the Prince had met on his way to Imladris was now solemn and reticent.

_It is no wonder,_ the Wood-Elf told himself, shambling a few more steps down the slight incline of the foothill. _The strange delusions from which he suffered earlier have almost come true. We have both almost died._

Their dire situation did not seem to match the mood of the forest, which hummed with the sounds of the mounting summer. Birds chirped and sang as they foraged, the breeze blew through the leaves above head with a sibilant song of their own, and the sun shone down upon them – it was this latter fact that Legolas mourned. _Cannot you fly more quickly through the sky?_ he asked of the sun, wishing for a cloud, if nothing else, or moreover, that it would rain. Legolas was not accustomed to being affected by the heat. Sweat poured from his body, coursing painfully over his lacerated back, burning the wounds there with its salty content. It ran into his eyes, saturated his breeches, and dampened his hair.

_We will have to stop again,_ the Prince decided, supporting himself with the trunk of a tree so that he would not fall. The pair had already halted their progress several times, and each time they rested for a longer period, only to walk a shorter distance than the last time before the Wood-Elf required rest again. He did not want to frighten the Adan, though from the constant glances of concern, the human was not fooled by Legolas’ pretence of being well enough to continue. The Wood-Elf sighed, fighting the urge to close his eyes. _I would like to find our campsite before dark, but we travel too slowly._

He could not lie to himself: he was the reason their journey had dawdled. “Let us rest a moment, Estel.”

Estel merely stared at the Wood-Elf, but then nodded and grabbed the archer’s arm as Legolas tried to sit gracefully on the ground. “I will be fine,” he told the young human, though he accepted Estel’s help nonetheless. Settling himself next to a tree, the Prince tried to recline against it, only to arch his bare back away from the rough bark when it scratched his wounds.

“We should get back to the campsite as quickly as possible,” the human told him, dropping to the ground in front of Legolas.

The Elf laid his head on the bark of the tree trunk behind him, careful not to allow his back to press against it this time, and answered the Adan, saying, “I am injured, Estel, and I am tired. Let me rest for a moment, and then we will continue.”

Even without seeing the human, he could imagine the look of utter disbelief the Adan now gave him, for Legolas heard it in Estel’s voice. “We will not make it back to the campsite if we do not leave soon.”

The Wood-Elf sighed, trying to keep his thoughts together. _He is right. I have made a fine mess of things,_ the Prince berated himself. _If I had been more attentive during the Warg attack, I would not be injured as I am now. And if I could have prevented Estel from being hurt by the Orc, then I could send him onwards alone. He would make better time without me._ It was becoming difficult for the Elf to think clearly – the heat seemed to incinerate every coherent idea he developed for getting he and the human out of danger, to their abandoned campsite, and to Imladris. _I doubt I will make it to the camp, whether we leave soon or not._

Legolas could not get comfortable. His long hair was stuck to his wounds, and as he pulled the mass of tangled and dirty hair from off his neck, wincing as the strands pulled free of the scabbed gashes there, his wince became a full out groan of pain when he stretched his arm too far, and thus his wounded side as well. The sling on his arm was slowly working itself loose under the weight of the sword he had tucked within, but the Wood-Elf merely let it sag because no matter how his injured limb lay against his chest, it hurt either his arm or torso. Although he could not see his back, he could imagine that it was covered in dirt.

_If I do not cease sweating, these wounds will at least be cleaned in some way,_ the Prince joked gloomily to himself. His breathing was becoming erratic, the heat pouring from his body rivaled that which shone upon them from the sun – or so Legolas mused as he closed his eyes. _A little rest. Then we will move on._

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He watched the Elf rest. _I am thirsty,_ he complained to himself, _and I am tired._

He did not begrudge the Wood-Elf their constant stopping, although both his thirst and his tiredness would be ameliorated if the Prince would only continue walking. Legolas was obviously suffering from more than just the pain of his wounds, and yet, the petulant Adan wanted the Prince to be well for his own sake, not just for the archer’s sake, and not just because he wanted water and a bed. Estel was frightened: if Legolas were not well, the human would not be able to help him, and he could not find their way to Imladris without Legolas’ guidance.

Waiting for the Wood-Elf to tell him it was time to move, Estel pressed his hand against his stomach, testing the wound there for heat, but found he could feel nothing through the cloth. And so, the human lifted his tunic and the bandaging, eying the skin of his own injury. _I was not cut by the same Orc blade,_ he remembered, and saw that his stomach bore no signs of infection, as did the Wood-Elf’s flesh. _But it still hurts._ His wound was no better, but it was thankfully no worse.

Estel rearranged the makeshift bandaging over his belly, glancing at the Wood-Elf, whose eyes were still closed, and his breathing becoming deeper, though no less unpredictable. The young human was growing uneasy: a deep fright welled within him, filling him until he was sure it would brim over, and he would run blindly through the forest in the general direction of Imladris. _We should be going soon. We need to get out of here._ He had felt elated to be free of the Orcs, to be free of the Warg, as well, but the Adan’s happiness was short-lived. _We are not safe. We must go home. I want to go home. I will rouse Legolas, and then we will leave._

“Legolas?” he called out in his hurry. The Prince opened his eyes, blinking them slowly, before he closed them again. “Legolas, wake up. We need to leave now. We need to go home.” It hardly mattered that for the Wood-Elf, Imladris was not home. The Adan was terrified, and he wanted nothing more than to move, to wake Legolas, and to be gone from this peaceful but cloying forest.

He could see the Prince’s pale skin was flushed; streaks of crimson contamination seemed to connect each slash on Legolas’ body, such that the Elf seemed covered in a web of reddened flesh. _This must be poison. Infection would not spread this quickly._ The realization brought the Adan little comfort, for he still had no means to aid the Prince.

“Legolas,” he said more loudly, grabbing the Wood-Elf by his uninjured shoulder to shake him as he repeated, “Legolas.”

The Elf opened his eyes again, and if the Prince had not been ill, injured, or if the Adan had not believed that Legolas would not willingly find sleep while they were in the forest and still in danger, the human might have concluded that the Wood-Elf was in deep reverie. However, he had seen Elves asleep many times before, and as the Adan rose to his knees, forgetting the Orc bow he had lying on his knee and letting it fall to the grass, Estel knew: _He is not sleeping._ The Wood-Elf’s eyes were glassy and unseeing.

“Legolas?” he asked again.

He gained no response from Legolas, except that the Prince closed his eyes, letting his head fall back against the trunk of the tree. _I wish I had paid more attention to Lord Elrond’s lessons in healing,_ the Adan bemoaned. _I do not know how to help him._ Leaving the Wood-Elf to his febrile rest, Estel drew his knees up to his chest, sitting his chin on them as he thought, _Lord Elrond could help him. He could help us both, if only I could remember which way was home._

The human was now lost in the forest, injured, hungry, thirsty, and with a feverish Wood-Elf for whom to care. _I am little better off than when I started,_ he thought, realizing that it didn’t matter if he felt capable of caring for Legolas and getting them both safely to Imladris, for the responsibility was suddenly his anyway. 


	14. Chapter 14

If he had not known that his mother was far away, visiting her people in Eriador, the young Adan would have wished to have her with him. As it was, however, Estel hugged his drawn up legs tighter to his chest, wishing more than anything that he was with her, far away from this forest, the pain of his wounded belly, and the dying Wood-Elf sitting across from him. _She should have let me travel with her. Then I would not be here, at least._ He drew his legs even tighter to his chest until his knees dug painfully into his ribs.

Estel had tried for several weeks before his mother’s journey to convince her to allow him to travel with her, but the Lady Gilraen, deferring to Lord Elrond’s advice in most manners concerning the raising of her only child, had agreed without argument: Estel was too young to accompany her and he would remain in Imladris. Estel had not understood why his mother would leave him behind, and had not been pacified to remain until his mother had grown exasperated at his questions and pleas, and finally had confessed to him more than he had ever been told about his past. Lady Gilraen had only told her son that it was not safe for him outside Imladris’ protected borders until he was old enough to fend for himself, and that he would not be traveling with her to Eriador for this reason. When this knowledge only prompted countless more questions from the curious Estel, his mother had finally told him the story of his father’s death.

Of course, he had known that Lord Elrond was not his true father since learning at a young age that he was not an Elf, his mother a human, and thus his natural father not in Imladris. From the age of two he had lived with the Elves; it had not taken him long, even as a child, to realize that he was not as quick, wise, or graceful as the many fair beings around him. Hearing his mother’s story of his father’s bravery, the young Adan had learnt that his sire had died to keep his family safe. Arathorn and his family had been traveling to Imladris, for his father was to ride against the Orcs with Elrond’s sons. Before they had reached Rivendell, however, the Orcs that the Elves and men meant to attack had attacked them, instead: the battle had been brief, the escort nearly eradicated, with only a few soldiers surviving.

His father, seeking revenge against the Orcs that had killed his men, wounded his wife, and nearly slaughtered his progeny, had ridden with Elrond’s twin sons after the wounded soldiers were safely within Imladris. The Orcs had fallen swiftly that day when his father had gone to battle, but so, too, had Arathorn. From his mother’s story, and from the twins’ concurrent telling of the events of the day, as they had been there to witness them, Estel had learnt that his father was a great warrior, a hero to many, and valiant in both heart and action. And this, more than anything, had aroused the young Adan’s endeavor to show to his Elven family that he could be as noble and brave as his father, as his Noldor family were, that he was not as young or stupid as they thought him to be, and above all, to demonstrate to himself that he could be as much the man as the father Estel could not even recall.

The harrowing story the Lady Gilraen had told her son was convincing, and the Adan did not pester his mother for more information, for too glad had he been to know that his father was a dignified warrior in the eyes of the Elves around him. Only after she had left, secure in the knowledge that her son would be safe under Lord Elrond’s care, did Estel’s mind began to piece together the information his mother had told him with the odd dreams from which he had always suffered. Two years old was much too young for Estel to remember all of what his mother had spoken: the dreams, the nightmares that woke him in the night, the recollection of screams and blood, and guards dying around them as his mother had held him tightly to shield him from both the danger and the sight – all of these began to resurface in his mind. The fair Lady Gilraen pushing her child between two fallen, dying soldiers, yelling at him to stay, while she seized a sword from the ground to join the fray, to protect her son: and now, facing similar circumstance of death and pain, Estel fought to keep his mind away from these thoughts. All of these insinuations into his thinking were memories of that awful day, though the Adan could never be sure if they were dreams or reality.

He had begged his adoptive family to let him travel to the mountains, to prove he could be as noble and valiant as the father he had never known, but he had been denied. Angry with his family that they had deemed him too young to survive on his own, and irritated with his inability to show Lord Elrond, Elrohir, and Elladan that he was not a child, Estel had rashly run off to prove himself.

 _Prove myself indeed,_ he thought, watching the Wood-Elf shift in his fever induced sleep. _I have proven nothing more than that I am foolish, and cannot care for myself, much less for anyone else._ Estel pressed his face against his forearms, and thus his eyes against the cloth of his tunic to stave off the tears threatening there. _I do not have time to cry. I must think of something._ Panic threatened to overwhelm him. The smell of blood, both his and Legolas’, and the terror of these vague recollections of long ago times made him nauseous. _There must be something I can do. This is my mess, and I will see us out of it._

Raising his head from his arms, the Adan wiped roughly at his eyes. _I only sit here while Legolas suffers, when I could be helping him._

Estel placed a palm on the Elf’s cheek to feel the fever there. Legolas burned – the angry crimson lines crisscrossing under his flesh seemed to swell and recede with every erratic pulse of the Prince’s heart. _If I had water, at least I could wash the poison from the gouges, or try to flush the poison from his system by having him drink._ Legolas would be greatly aided by this, his life prolonged and perhaps saved; for at the moment the archer’s feverish sweating had the Elf dehydrated. But they had no water and because he had been unconscious during the ride to the Orcs’ cavern, the young human did not know where the closest source for water would be. _We will have to return to the campsite for water._

Estel entertained this thought for a moment, thinking of how best to find the way to the campsite. _If I could find our tracks to the cave, maybe I could find our way back to the campsite by following them down the mountain._ However, a more serious problem arose within his mind, and the Adan huffed in frustration. _I cannot carry Legolas to the campsite!_ For a few moments, the Adan sat in his self-pitying, downhearted spirits before he advised himself, _One problem at a time! I must do what I can, rather than lament that I cannot do what is best._

Estel thought to let Legolas rest, hoping that the poison’s effects would be ameliorated if the Prince’s other injuries – his lacerated back and sides, his contused torso and head, and his all-consuming exhaustion from these wounds and the feverish poison – could be given the chance for Legolas’ Elven healing to begin in his reverie. _If he rests, then perhaps we will be able to continue in the evening, when we will not be as hot. But how should I situate him on the ground?_ After removing the Orc blade from Legolas’ sling, the Adan scanned the forest floor behind the Elf for rocks and branches that would exacerbate the Prince’s wounds.

They had nothing to use for a blanket, for he had lost his cloak days before meeting the Elf and the Prince’s cloak had been left at their campsite, but Estel improvised, loosening his tunic to pull it from his shoulders. He was burning up himself, as well, and would not mind at all being free of the fabric: he spread it on the ground beside the Prince, removing an errant branch from under it ere he knelt before Legolas. Placing a hand behind the Prince’s neck and another under the Elf’s uninjured arm, Estel lifted the Wood-Elf away from the tree against which he had been sitting, and then struggled not to let the Elda fall carelessly to the ground as he positioned Legolas over the tunic. Vigilantly, the human lowered the Elf to the forest floor, laying him on the tunic with his head on the fabric.

_Legolas can rest for a while. Surely, this will help him better than my trying to get us down the hillside._

If he waited, if they sat in the woods, hoping for the Imladrian warriors to find them, then they might be rescued; however, Estel did not know that Legolas had the time to linger. _I suppose I will have to wait – I’ve no other choice. Perhaps Legolas will wake,_ he decided, patting the Elf’s hand as he pondered on their dilemma. _But I cannot just sit here without trying at least to tend his wounds._ Leaving the Wood-Elf to his rest, the Adan crawled to his knees and then carefully into standing, one hand pressed against his stomach to ward off the pain his movement would inevitably bring.

It was the zenith of summer: already the human child sweated from the heat of the sun’s relentless bombardment of its rays of warming splendor. The forest hummed with the sounds of insects and songbirds overhead, who did not mind at all the Adan tromping noisily through the underbrush. Plants grew all around him, and the Adan knew that if he could only remember Elrond’s lessons, he could find some way to assist the Wood-Elf. _Even should I remember, we’ve no water for tea,_ he despaired, wishing again that he had listened more closely to what Lord Elrond had told him of herbs and their uses. _If I choose the wrong plants, I could only worsen his condition. I know nothing of poisons. I do not know what Legolas is poisoned with, so I do not know how best to heal him._ He sighed, _But there is no harm in looking. If nothing else, I could find us something to eat._

The young human surveyed their surroundings, growing excited as he saw plants he was well acquainted with, thinking, _But I do know of fevers, and toxin, and even if I cannot cure him, maybe I can still help._ Squatting next to a patch of dandelions, the Adan began plucking the leaves from the bright yellow flowers, gathering all that he could find as he recalled his lessons from Elrohir and Elladan. _Dandelions work well at removing toxins, and they work better fresh than boiled._

With his hand full of the serrated leaves, the human looked about him for more, only to find something of even greater use. Several burdocks grew amongst a clump of tall grass, their purple flowers brimming over the tops of the leaves, and their long stems evincing that the plants were in their second year, and thus their roots capable of being used for Estel’s mismatched medicine. _Burdock is excellent for poisons._

Selecting a stick from the ground, Estel dug at the plants' base, digging free the roots to add to his collection. When he had enough of the herbs, he heaped his scavenged handfuls of dandelion leaves and burdock roots together, telling himself aloud in excitement, “This will not cure Legolas, but it cannot hurt him, at least.”

The Adan looked over his shoulders to make sure he had not walked beyond sight of the Prince. _There is nothing else here worth using …_ Estel’s breath caught in his throat, as if afraid should he breathe too hard he might blow away the berry laden, low shrubs several paces ahead of him. _Currants!_ Forgetting his intent not to walk too far from Legolas, the Adan bounded forwards happily, falling to his knees in front of the bushes to pull free one of the red and ripe berries.

Estel held the berry in hand, popping the fruit between his fingers in absent wonder as he thought of a time when he was younger: sick in bed with fever, the twins had brought him sweetened red currant juice with his breakfast. It had been a treat for him, for the berries on the currant plant were small and the mug of fragrant juice had taken many berries to make. Elrohir had told his human sibling that the fluid would help his fever, that the red currant was a febrifuge, and that it would refresh and cool his body.

He smeared the juice across his fingertips, watching the ruby liquid trickle down his fingers as he thought, _Later that day my fever broke._

The juice was not the only attempt the healers had made to ease the Adan’s fever, but that hardly mattered to Estel now, for he gazed wondrously at the spread of bushes around him, saying aloud to himself, “If it helped me at all, then perhaps it can help Legolas. If nothing else,” he reasoned, “it will give him something to drink, and something to mix with these roots and leaves.”

Laying his collected herbs aside, the youth wiped his sticky hand against his breeches before he began to harvest the fruit, placing the berries in a pile in the grass beside his roots and leaves, until he had taken all of the currants he could reach from where he sat. He moved farther to gather more, and only after having collected a handful did another problem occur to Estel: _I’ve no mortar to grind these in, nor any cup in which to press these berries._ His shoulders dropped at the further complications of helping Legolas. _None of these will help him unless he could be awake to eat them._

He carried his assortment of fruit and herbs in handfuls back to where Legolas lay, making several trips to take all that he had gathered. When done, the young Adan began to search his surroundings again. Against a tree further down the hillside was a group of rocks. _All I need is one for grinding, and one to grind against._ Estel chose a long, flat rock from amongst those half-hidden under the moss covering it and the tree, and swept it clean of dirt against his breeches. In the middle of this slab was a small indent, one in which the Adan planned to place his concoction. _This will have to do, although I would rather have a mortar. I need a smaller stone for a pestle,_ he decided, poking through the moss for another rock, and finding one with a blunt end. Pleased at his ingenuity, the Adan rushed back to the Wood-Elf: he did not like leaving Legolas alone, nor did he wish the Elf to wake without his being there, for he didn’t want the Prince thinking that Estel had left him in the forest.

 _Perhaps this will work,_ he hoped, clutching the two rocks against his chest as he ran. Plopping painfully to the ground beside Legolas, Estel began to grind a bit of the root and leaves with the blunt rock against the flat rock, working in the berries until the juice of all three was separated from a brownish, lumpy pulp. _Let us see if this helps,_ he hoped, finding his feet, the flat rock in his hand. Hovering over the Wood-Elf, Estel gently opened the Elf’s mouth, and with the flat stone over Legolas’ face, he tipped the stone to pour the liquid between the Prince’s lips.

Instead of channeling into the Wood-Elf’s mouth, the mixture ran out of the small dent in which he had let it pool and streamed haphazardly across the large rock: the russet colored liquid dribbled over Legolas’ face, with only a few drops ever making its way between the Elf’s lips.

 _Damn it to Mordor,_ he thought in dismay. Too late did he right the long rock on which the tonic was held, and so too much of the medicine was spilt – what was left in the small hollow of the stone was merely enough to wet the Elf’s lips, not help his fever or quench his thirst.

 _It was a good idea,_ he told himself, his eyes stinging with tears at his failure. He fought the urge to throw the stone into the weeds, to smash the berries and roots under his foot when he stood, his extraction as wasted as the time he had spent making it. Estel sighed as he watched the fluid’s course as it ended up at the sides of the Elf’s bruised neck. _I will just need to find another way._ Bending to one knee, the young Adan used the edge of his tunic, on which the Prince still lay, to wipe away the berry juice from Legolas’ face. _I need something to hold the juice so that I can pour it into his mouth._ Standing once the Elda was free of the sticky tonic, Estel looked around him. _And I will need something better than this stone._

He could see nothing that would help him – at least, not until he espied the quiver holding the Orc arrows he had brought with them. The leather of the quiver was unusable; Estel would not chance the possibility that the arrows were poisonous as well, and that the quiver, though solid at its bottom and therefore useful as a makeshift cup, would be tainted with some foul concoction of the Orc's making. However, the leather quiver had a leather belt, and on this strap was a crude buckle, a half circle of concave metal.

 _This will work,_ the human mused, taking the quiver in hand to yank the buckle loose.

He cleaned the metal with his tunic before piling it with dandelion leaves and burdock root. He then ground them happily, smiling at Legolas as he assured the insentient Elf, “This will help you, Legolas. I will take care of you, I promise, until we are found, or until you can walk with me to Imladris.”

When the berries and herbs were a pulp, Estel pressed the thick mash with his blunt stone against the metal, and once more stood over Legolas, bending over though it pained his wounded belly, so that he could pour the thick liquid into the Elf’s mouth. This time, without the bulk of the stone to navigate, the Adan could decant the tonic without spilling.

 _It works!_ The Elf swallowed instinctively the liquid tickling his throat, his brow furrowing as he licked his lips in his healing, febrile, half-asleep state. Estel laughed in relief: the twins and Elrond may have been right, for Estel was certainly not capable of caring for himself on his own, or even for Legolas while the Prince was sick, but in what he lacked in knowledge, Estel was certain that he could make up for in resourcefulness.

Several times more did he grind the berries and leaves, each time pouring the scant liquid into the Prince’s mouth, the process taking more effort than the Adan would normally have minded spending on any one task. Estel had never been a patient child, but the mundane labor did not wear on his nerves as it otherwise might: the human was much too worried for the Prince to notice. After he had used his supply of herbs and most of his berries, Estel wiped the sweat from his brow, pushing his damp hair away from his face as he painstakingly helped the unconscious Wood-Elf to drink the last of the liquid, letting none of the fluid go to waste. It was hardly enough to hydrate the parched Prince, nor was it the best medicine, but Estel had done what he could.

_Now all we need is food and shelter._

More substantial food than berries could wait, although the human’s ever growling stomach protested this decision. _Even injured you cannot stop complaining for food,_ he told his wounded belly, _but I cannot listen to you now. Legolas needs shelter from the hot sun and we should not remain out in the open for any to find us._ He knew he could not carry the Prince, at least, not very well and not for long, but thought, _If I can find a place where we would be both hidden from the sun and from animals, Orcs, or humans, then Legolas can rest, and perhaps I as well._ He wished they could reach their old campsite, or better yet, the river, but knew such a thing would not happen. _It would even be well enough could we go back to the Orc’s cave. At least we would be out of the sun._ He could no more climb the hill with the Wood-Elf than walk down it, and so there was nothing for it: the human and Elf were stuck on the hillside.

He stood at the Wood-Elf’s head, eying the Elf lying on the tunic. _I can drag him, I think._ Grabbing the edges of his tunic above where the Prince’s head lay on it, the Adan gave it an experimental tug: for a few minutes this worked well, the Elf moved slowly but he _did_ move. Legolas slid forward with the tunic, but as only his back lay on the cloth, the rest of the Elf eventually became snagged on the grass and ground, and the tunic merely slid right out from under the Elf.

 _If I cannot get us to shelter, then I will have to make us shelter here._ Surprised at his own imagination, the human first inspected the trees above them, though he quickly abandoned this idea upon realizing that since he could not carry the Prince up the hill, he would never be capable of toting the Elf up the tree. _There must be another way._

Again, the human turned to their surroundings for help, no longer seeing the forest as an enemy, but more as their abettor for survival. _These bushes can hide us,_ he decided, and then strode to them to inspect. Flowered and thick, the shrubs would work well to shield the Elf and human from the sun, while offering them enough space underneath so that they could rest in comfort. Estel smiled: _These will do well, indeed._

With several quick swings of the Orc blade, the human had chopped free the smaller inner branches of the dense shrubbery, leaving the top, thicker, and leafier branches intact to cover his and the Prince’s heads once they were within the makeshift shelter. Estel bundled the hewn limbs together in hand before shoving them in a similar bush nearby, hiding their broken ends so that none passing by with a sharp eye could see that the limbs had been freshly cut. _Now I’ve only to get Legolas into it._ Kneeling down, the Adan left the Wood-Elf outside while crawling under the shrubbery himself. Everywhere there were branches to poke him as he moved, but the Adan was less concerned with how comfortable he would be in sitting and was more concerned with whether the Elf could lie in the confined and short-ceilinged enclosure. _If he does not wake,_ Estel decided, _nor want to sit, then there will be room enough._

Estel crawled from under the bushes and hurried to the Wood-Elf: threading his arms under the Silvan’s, the human tried to haul the Prince to the shelter. When it seemed that his arms would not hold the Prince any longer and when the pain in his belly made his vision blur, Estel lowered the Elf as gently to the ground as he could, glad, at least, that he could lay the Wood-Elf on soft grass, rather than the rockier soil closer to the bushes. Sighing, the Adan knelt on the ground, contemplating the best method of getting the Elf under the shrubbery without exacerbating Legolas’ wounds.

 _The tunic,_ he decided, sprinting back the short distance to where the shirt still lay. _I can drag him under the bushes,_ Estel thought, his enthusiasm inciting the Adan to grin as he seized the shirt from the grass, and the berries left over from Legolas’ tonic, to run back to their shelter. _It is a short distance. The cloth will keep his wounds from grating against the dirt, and he will have something to lie on in our sanctuary._

Spreading the tunic on the ground close to the bushes, and then heaving the Wood-Elf to it, he laid Legolas on his back upon the cloth, settling the Elf’s good arm into the sling that held the Prince's injured one so that they would not fall free while he dragged the Elf. He placed their supply of berries on the tunic, as well. It was no easy task, crawling backwards into the bush while yanking the cloth to bring the Prince with him, but Estel did not relent until the Elf was safely ensconced under the shrubs. To keep the Silvan within the shelter, Estel was forced to lay Legolas upon his uninjured side, bending the Elf at his waist around the bush’s trunk. Not once did the Prince stir at being moved as such, and when finished, Estel sat back, wiping the sweat from his face.

The air was cooler under the tall bushes, and with the berries he had collected tucked away on the tunic, the human did not believe that he would need to leave the shelter again before the sun began to set. _Food, something to ease our thirst, shelter, medicines… all we’ve left now to worry about is safety, and tonight, to worry about finding our way home._ The latter two necessities worried him the most: he could not assure his or the Prince’s safety, nor did he know how they would get home, especially if Legolas was no better after his rest.

Estel checked the bandaging over his belly, and seeing that there was no greater bloodstain on the cloth, settled back against the branches behind him, despite their broken and sharp ends, to hide himself more within the depths of the brush. _If any were to track us, they could easily find us here, and we would have no way out,_ he thought forlornly, but then realized, _but whether in the open or here, hiding in the shrubs, should someone find us, we would be easy prey anyway. I am not abandoning Legolas to save my own hide, and I am no warrior. I could not fight off a group of Orcs or a cave Troll._

Within these winding, worrisome thoughts threaded a deeper current, a whirling discord that played subtly upon the human’s thinking: fear of things he could not remember, of events he had only heard about from his mother’s story, welled beneath the placid surface of his thoughts. Screams of terror, of pain, the stench of blood and death threatened his composure, for without action to occupy him, his panic was returning. He had been too young to know what he saw that day long ago, but not too young for the dire events not to make their impression upon his mind. Although these memories rarely surfaced in any recognizable detail, their accompanying emotions were always quick to rise. Now, lost in the flow of emotion and pain, Estel began to flounder in his fear.

The Adan held the Orc blade tightly in hand, while in his other he held onto Legolas’ arm. The Prince rested, though fitfully. _Sleep until nightfall, Legolas. And then, my friend, please wake._


	15. Chapter 15

At first, when noting that Estel was missing the evening after the Adan had fled, Elladan and Elrohir had thought they would find the human before nightfall. Estel had not traversed beyond the security of Imladris since arriving in their father’s realm, and since his coming, the twins had developed a deep protectiveness for their adopted brother. They had taught him much about the forest, though not enough for the young Adan to survive on his own, and while looking for him that night, though worried, the twins had not been as frightened for the human child as they were now. It had not occurred to the twins that Estel would ever have traveled as fast or as far as he had.

After not reporting to their father over the course of that long and troublesome night or the following anxious day, the night of the second day of their hunt the twins had encountered a company of warriors, sent by Lord Elrond. These warriors were searching for both the twins and the young Adan, but since Estel’s path had become erratic and harder to follow as time and weather endangered them, neither twin wished to have a passel of searching warriors tromping through the forest to disturb the prints the twins’ adopted brother had left. For a trying period of a full day, the path had been lost altogether, which had caused the Elven brothers much grief. Once they had found Estel’s tracks again, Elladan and Elrohir had asked the warriors to cease their own searches, but retained the supply of warriors to travel with them to send one by one with messages of their discoveries to their father.

After several hours, one of the warriors would leave for Imladris to take word to Elrond of their findings, traveling the short distance straight to the valley, while the twins’ path onwards was circular and long from following the lost Estel’s wanderings. Now, with only one warrior left, and the prints of the Adan newly trampled upon the grass, the twins rushed to discover their human brother. Both wished to ease their father’s worried mind with good news; moreover, the frightened twins wanted to find the Adan, to be certain that the human was safe.

 _When fresh, a human’s footsteps are easier to locate than limbs on a tree,_ Elladan mused, bending low to the ground. He followed with his keen eyes the line of Estel’s walking: it would seem that his young, human sibling had not traveled with his mysterious benefactor, for there was still only one set of footprints. _Whomever Estel found while roaming the forest apparently has deserted him now._ Since last sending word to their father about what they had found, Elladan and Elrohir had trailed the young Adan as he had walked westward, and not once had they found any evidence of the traveler the human had met. _These prints are a day old or less,_ he decided of the recently broken stalks of grass before him, his excitement building. _They were left yesterday morning or perhaps in the afternoon._ The Noldor were catching up to the lost human.

The warrior with them followed behind, not interfering with the twins’ progress in tracking, but offering his protection by allowing the two Elven brothers to grant their full attention to finding the missing Adan. Normally, the brothers would be bothered by the presence of another whose purpose was to keep them safe: both twins were well seasoned in the art of war and could take care of themselves. However, neither complained, for both knew that their thoughts were elsewhere, and though they would recognize danger should any approach, their senses were better put to use towards what garnered their troubled awareness: Estel.

His attention was so focused on the tracks he followed that when he stopped for a moment, Elladan was surprised to find that time was slipping by them, the sun past the midday point and the forest falling into the shadows of the afternoon. The elder twin looked back to his brother, whose duty was currently to scan their surroundings for other signs, while leaving the tracks themselves to Elladan.

“Care to switch, Elrohir?” the elder twin asked, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. Staring down at the ground for hours at a time was proving to be a painful experience, one that Elladan had not undertaken for a long time, at least not since last they had hunted Orcs for fun. “If I look to the ground any longer, I fear my neck will never straighten.”

With the ghost of a smile flitting across his apprehensive face, Elrohir nodded and walked to his brother: his foot hit upon something. An apple core, the fragrant flesh mostly absent though enough remained to interest the ants that currently crawled upon it, tumbled along the ground in front of Elrohir. Elladan watched his twin walk to it, bending upon one knee to inspect the object. “Do you think this is Estel’s?” he asked.

“There aren’t any apple trees around here, brother. Where would Estel have found an apple?” the younger twin queried, turning the core in his palm as if the remnants or the ants that now ran from their sweet luncheon could possibly reply.

“We have them in the cold stores at home, Elrohir, from the midsummer’s harvest of the early ripening apple trees. Perhaps he brought one with him,” the elder twin responded, not sure what significance this finding meant for Elrohir.

But the younger Noldo only shrugged and dropped the apple to the ground before his eyes grew wide: Elrohir rushed forward, plummeting to his knees beside a fallen log. Elladan flashed a confused frown at their accompanying warrior before asking his twin, “What is it, brother?”

Striding to where his brother knelt, the Noldo peered over his twin’s shoulder to find that his twin was holding a leaf-wrapper – tucked within was a piece of waybread.

“The apple we could explain, Elladan, but waybread as well?”

Elladan was unconvinced by his twin’s logic. “Estel could just as easily have taken the waybread with his apple.”

“But he ran off in a hurry, without even his bow. I doubt Estel would have visited the kitchens first. Someone would have questioned him,” the younger twin argued, adding, “Besides; he hates waybread, and would likely only eat it if he were starving.”

Not desiring to follow that line of thought, since if Estel had been the one eating the waybread then Elrohir’s insinuation might be true, and therefore the Adan famished, Elladan nodded his head in reluctant agreement. “If it is his, I suppose someone must have given it to him.”

“Whoever he met at the campsite we found earlier has given it to him.” The younger twin tapped the wafer of lembas absently against his palm in thought until it broke in half, the broken piece falling to the ground, altogether unnoticed by Elrohir. “Although how this person has eluded our tracking him, I do not know.” Elrohir stood abruptly, dropping the leaf wrapper and wiping the crumbs from his fingers against his leggings as he implored Elladan, “Who would have found him, brother? And why would his finder have left him to travel the forest alone? Estel is only a child.”

“Where would this person have gone?” the elder twin said by way of response, posing the most vexing question they needed to answer, save for Estel’s current whereabouts. “And has he shown Estel how to find his way home before leaving him?”

They stood silently for a few moments, neither having the answer to any of their questions, when Elladan finally slumped to sit on the log by which they had found the lembas. _If this is not Estel’s apple or lembas, and someone has given them to him, then surely this stranger is traveling with him._ The warrior, Handolin, and Elladan's brother Elrohir stood before him, pondering on the same questions. _But where are they, and why do they leave no prints?_

“My lords,” Handolin exclaimed with enthusiasm, breaking the twins’ miserable silence. “Look.”

Walking to where the warrior pointed, Elladan and Elrohir knelt once more, though this time, they had something more substantial to view than leftovers of repast. Barely discernible to few but another Elf, the small indentations on the ground, nothing more than a light flattening of the soft dirt, evinced the presence of another in the clearing. _Two sets of tracks!_

“Are these the tracks of the stranger Estel encountered earlier at the campsite?” the elder twin wondered aloud. “But the stranger left tracks before the campsite, and not a single one until now.”

“Perhaps he climbed through the trees,” Handolin suggested from where he stood behind the two brothers. “The forest has been dense through these parts.”

“It is easier to walk on the ground,” Elladan argued, standing as he looked about for more tracks. Finding that the two sets of tracks both led from the clearing westward, Elladan had to agree with Handolin’s assessment, however, and said, “Although that would explain why there are no second prints until now. But why would someone climb through the trees to follow Estel, and who could possibly do so for such a long period of time?” Elladan watched his twin’s brows rise with sudden understanding, and was sure that he must have looked much the same when his own questions seemed to answer themselves. “A Wood-Elf,” he whispered, and then began to grin. “A Wood-Elf, Elrohir!”

“An Elf has found him,” his twin said in a rush of relieved breath. “Estel could certainly have found someone more sinister than a passing Wood-Elf to encounter. Surely this Elf is helping him.”

Their eagerness renewed, the trio continued walking immediately, following the two sets of tracks well into the evening. The twin brothers did not speak, for no words could they find to communicate to the other their fearful concern. No words were needed between the two Elven brothers: Elladan could feel his twin’s emotions as clearly as his own, such that he could not decipher where his own fear ended and Elrohir’s began.

 _A Wood-Elf,_ Elladan thought to himself, following behind his brother as Elrohir trailed the tracks rapidly through the forest. Even without knowing of the Prince of Mirkwood’s imminent arrival, the twins believed that all signs seemed to indicate that not just any Elf but a _Wood-Elf_ had found their human brother.

 _Elrohir or I could climb through the trees without falling, but none save a Wood-Elf could ever have leapt from limb to limb or stayed above for so long with such ease and for so long a time._ Deciding that it was a benevolent Wood-Elf and not a Wood-Elf who would not care to help their human brother was just wishful thinking, but the twins found new vigor in their tired steps as they followed the tracks through the forest. _If Estel is with an Elf,_ the elder twin decided, _then we can hope he is still safe._

As the sky darkened with the onset of the night, Elladan smelled the offensive, putrid aroma of what reminded the elder Elf of meat left too long in the sun. It was the stench of decaying carcasses, though of what type of animal the twin did not know: catching his brother’s nose curled into a grimace of disgust, Elladan knew that his twin smelled it, too, and so took off at a run towards the origin of the odor without consulting his twin or their fellow warrior.

 _Let it not be._ He would not think it. He would not admit to himself that the horrid smell might be related to the young Adan’s disappearance. _Let it not be Estel._ His stomach protested the thought almost as much as his heart, for neither would be able to stand the sight of the young child in such a state. He waded through the tall thicket just as the stench reached its height, fully expecting the most terrible on the other side of the bush: Elladan, Elrohir, and Handolin found the worst they could expect, though it was not because they found a deceased Estel. No, what they happened upon was nearly as sickening. Pierced with arrows, Wargs were scattered around a campfire, both Wargs and fire long dead. A brown cloak lay forgotten by the ashes of the fire, and a leather satchel sat nearby.

“Estel!” the younger twin called, and was the first to break the surprised immobility that had overtaken the three Elves at the horrific display of death and battle. Elrohir rushed around the campsite, followed shortly by Elladan and Handolin in searching for any living creature, whether Estel or the Wood-Elf with whom they believed the young Adan to be traveling. “Estel!”

Frantically, they explored the clearing but found no human or Wood-Elf; instead, Elladan happened across a white handled, long knife, its blade etched with a Sindarin blessing. _This is certainly of Elven make._

“Help me search under these beasts,” Elrohir asked, and both his twin and the warrior complied. Elladan left the sword where it was to choose a limb from the ground, and holding it in hand, used the sturdy branch to pry the dead Warg’s body from its deathbed of leaves, grass, and blood. The heavy beast was so large that the Adan’s own thin body could have easily been entrapped beneath, but nothing lay under the animal.

“Not even the carrion would want to eat so disgusting a meal,” Elladan told no one in particular. His twin brother flashed him a pained grin of agreement, letting the Warg he had been looking under fall back to the earth with a heavy thud.

Handolin, who had already searched the other Warg, told them, “There is nothing.”

Not sure whether to be relieved or worried that the Adan was not here, Elladan went back to inspecting the debris of travel left behind. Rifling through the satchel, Elladan saw nothing but two more apples, a few wafers of lembas, a bladder of water, and a change of clothing. _These are not of Imladrian make,_ the Noldo thought, replacing the rolled, green cloth of the traveler’s leggings back within the satchel. A packet of herbs fell out from between the tunic when he removed it for inspection, though they were nothing particularly abnormal: these the elder Elf replaced in the bag as well before searching for more clues.

In addition to the cloak, satchel, and long handled sword, a bow and quiver lay nearby the fire. Blood stained the claw scored quiver, its straps were strangely absent, appearing as if they had been sliced from the container, and the bow, though intact, was pressed into the ground as if it had been trodden or laid upon by a heavy weight.

 _The fletching of the arrows in the Wargs match those remaining in this quiver_ , the elder twin noted, and told his brother and Handolin, “There is no doubt. Estel is with a Wood-Elf.” From the light, small bow that he had found, the knowledgeable Elladan could deduce nothing else. _And whoever this Wood-Elf is, he is injured._

“Elladan,” his twin whispered from where he knelt a few feet away. “Estel’s sword,” he added in a voice low with despair. “Let us take these things with us,” Elrohir suggested, lifting lovingly from the ground the short blade of their younger brother. “Estel will not wish to lose this, nor will his companion desire to lose the weapons he has left behind.”

 _Estel would not have left behind his sword, nor would this Wood-Elf have left behind his weapons, satchel, or cloak unless forced to do so._ Elladan surveyed the campsite without standing, his keen gaze passing over their own footprints, and those of Estel and the Wood-Elf, to see if the Wargs had attacked alone. Not all Wargs were tamed for use by the Orc riders, some were feral; however, the deep, wide marks of Orcs' boots were plain amongst the other prints. _Orcs. They were attacked by Orcs._ If they looked long enough, the elder Noldo knew that they could piece together what had occurred here, but if the Adan and Wood-Elf were in the company of Orcs, they did not have the time for speculation.

Elladan told his brother and fellow warrior, “There are Orc tracks here.”

Strapping Estel’s blade to his waist, Elrohir paced the clearing, stepping around pools of Warg blood as he went, his dark hair haloed by the setting sun such that at top, it seemed to Elladan that his brother’s hair flamed as a candle, the orange and red of the sun casting a fiery reflection on the inky tresses. “They lead away from here, as do these Warg prints.” Resting where he knelt, the twin only watched Elrohir as he tracked, trusting his brother’s abilities as much as his own. “As do the stranger’s prints.”

Elladan finally stood, though his body, weary from days of walking without rest, wished only to remain on the ground. He asked, “And Estel’s?”

“They stop here, by these Warg tracks.” Elrohir shared an anxious frown with his twin: he did not need to explain to the two Elves the conclusions drawn from this. Estel and his Wood-Elf companion were captives.

“Handolin,” Elladan told the Imladrian warrior curtly, forgetting his weariness at the thought of his young Adan brother in the hands of Orcs, “take word back to my father of what we have found. We will continue.”

The warrior peered into the surrounding forest, advising though it was clear in his hesitance that he did not wish to offend the opinions of the two Noldor, “I would that there were more warriors to accompany you, my Lords. Perhaps sending word to Lord Elrond could wait until we have better information to send.”

Handolin’s gist was clear: he did not wish to leave the twin sons of his Lord to fight Orcs alone. But Elrohir agreed with his twin, telling the warrior without taking his eyes from the prints pressed into the grass and dirt, “I do not know in what condition we will find Estel, or his companion, but we will likely need horses for transporting them, Handolin, and more supplies than what we have now.” Elrohir glanced around the clearing, his eyes seeking anything else of their lost brother; finally, his gaze settled on the warrior, instructing, “Tell our father what we have found and what we need.”

Nodding, the warrior bowed his head dutifully before taking off at a full sprint in the general direction of the Last Homely House. For a moment, Elladan watched Handolin run, admiring the warrior’s haste as he dodged trees and other obstacles. _It will take Handolin most of the night before he can report to Ada. Let us hope that we find Estel and his companion before then._ Without horses or an extensive supply of medicines, for the twins had not believed they would need either when first they started on their mission, the Elven brothers were sorely ill-equipped for a long journey, much less of tending any wounded.

“Let us find them first, Elladan,” Elrohir asserted quietly, knowing what his twin was thinking, for he could feel his elder brother’s thoughts, even if he could not hear them. “It may be that we will not need horses, medicines, or warriors to aid us once we have found them.”

 _We may not need these things because Estel will be beyond our help,_ Elladan considered forlornly as he strapped the weapons he had found to the Wood-Elf’s satchel, and then shouldered the satchel’s strap over his own.

Elrohir only shook his head knowingly, prompting his brothers to forsake his hopeless thoughts, “Come Elladan, haste is more important.”

Following the trampled earth where lay the Orcs, Warg, and the lighter, virtually imperceptible footprints of the Wood-Elf with whom their human brother had been taken, the Elven brothers ran up the long, slow incline toward the mountains, their alacrity inspired with unwanted imaginings of what torment their human brother might be enduring. 


	16. Chapter 16

He awoke to the numbed feeling of the arm on which he slept; his sleeping limb was waking, which caused him to groan when the prickling rush of blood to his uninjured arm roused the pain of his injured arm.

 _Where am I?_ he questioned himself before promptly forgetting the query when a fresh wave of agony from his wounded back inundated his thinking.

The Elf was thirsty – so great was his desire for a drink that Legolas found he could concentrate on little else save his desiccated throat. Licking his chapped lips, the Wood-Elf had no moisture in his gritty mouth with which to moisten them. He felt as though he lay in the noonday sun, as if he were buried under the sands on the Anduin’s beaches – but instead, the Prince opened his eyes to find that where he lay was dark and the ground beneath him cool and rough with leaves and twigs.

 _I need to find water,_ he told himself.

As he tried to roll to his back to sit, to figure out where he was and how he could leave this odd place, Legolas realized that wherever he currently lay, there was no room for movement. Bringing his ill-treated arm to his face, the Wood-Elf tried to rub his grainy eyes, but once more, he could not find the room to maneuver even this much in the enclosed space.

_What is this place?_

“Hello,” the Prince whispered, feeling that there was another with him, though he could not recall who this other should be. He did not know if this other person would even be willing to help him, and so when he received no answer or aid, and after a few excruciating moments of pain, the Elf gave up on eliciting help. He would find water on his own.

Sliding an arm along the ground above where his head lay, the Wood-Elf felt nothing to impede him, and so tried to wriggle himself in that direction. Above him, the scant light of the moon filtered through a tangle of limbs and leaves, evincing to the Elf that he lay under a bush. Legolas continued to twist his body along the ground, his eyes snapping shut when his back left the soft tunic on which he had been lying and instead began to abrade along the ground with his every movement. Branches scraped his side and arm but he did not stop moving. He wanted water, and the Prince did not mind the pain, if only he could soothe his aching, feverish throat.

In short bursts of motion, the Elf finally managed to be free: soft grass cushioned him as he lay, his energy expended and his goal temporarily suspended in favor of enjoying the freedom to move his arms and legs. _I must find out where I am._ Legolas used his uninjured arm to push himself onto his feet. He wobbled for a moment, the dark forest spun around him, which caused the Prince to grab the nearest support he could find. Latching onto the branches of the bush he had just crawled out from under, the Wood-Elf steadied himself. Legolas blinked his eyes to clear the dizzying image of the whirling forest from them, and once clear, he thought, _There must be water close by._

As he looked to where his hands were fisted in the green branches of the bush, the Elf saw the being hidden within, and curious, Legolas spread the topmost limbs to see further into the thick hiding spot. With his head lying face down upon his folded arms, which rested on his knees, the other’s visage was hidden from the Elf. The Prince could not see whom it was that still sat under the bushes. Whoever it was, the young one was asleep: it did not matter to Legolas. He did not know friend from foe, nor did he comprehend anything beyond what his body told him.

_Water._

His skin felt afire, and had he the mental faculties for such jokes, the Elf might have jested to himself that the mere heat of his skin should have set to flames the bush under which he had laid.

With nothing within his febrile mind but the vague notion of fresh air and his overwhelming desire to find a drink, Legolas wandered away from the sleeping, unwitting Adan under the leafy limbs, stumbling through the surrounding thicket for a few minutes until he fell to his knees.

 _This is not Mirkwood,_ he deciphered, his mind at a loss as to where he found himself, if not in his home. These woods were different, the trees were sparse and the low vegetation dense in the rocky soil. Walking forward a few steps on his knees, the Prince reached out to touch the tree before him, hoping to glean some information from the young spruce.

The pain of the many cuts and bruises on his body, and the more serious gouges from the Warg’s claws, were distant to him. While Legolas could certainly feel the pain, it overloaded the Elf’s senses, making the Prince feel as if he should be unconscious, rather than kneeling in the forest, begging the roots of a tree to tell him where the nearest source of water lay. His confusion, though, kept him from understanding the tree’s answer, and so the Wood-Elf merely sat there, staring in puzzlement at the unfamiliar forest around him.

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Estel’s neck rolled to the side: though he expected a soft, clean pillow to be under his aching head, there was nothing there. The lack of support as he tried to move in his sleep startled the Adan into waking, and his body jumped to attention to keep him from falling over into the unknown. Immediately, Estel remembered where he was. _It is nighttime. I have fallen asleep and have slept through the afternoon._ The clatter of the Orc sword as it fell from his hand and against a low hanging branch startled the Adan even more, and he quickly shifted his seat on the ground, careful not to twist his injured belly too far, so that he could see the Wood-Elf.

“Legolas?”

Although his tunic lay on the ground, covered in dirt and blood from the Prince’s wounds, there was no Elda upon it. As he eyed his tunic, the human panicked, for a bright, frighteningly rubicund smirch of liquid stained the cloth. _Legolas has been bleeding more than before,_ the Adan worried, reaching out his hand to touch the stain. However, the liquid was cool to the touch, not warm, as newly shed blood should have been. Bringing his fingers tentatively to his face, the child smelled the fluid, breathing out heavily when the sweet smell of berries, and not the salty smell of blood, flooded his nose. _I left our food on the tunic. Legolas has smashed our supply of currants._ He tried to slow his frightened breathing, but it only increased as he thought, _Although this does not explain where Legolas is. I must find him._

The Adan scrambled out of the shelter, seeking Legolas in the surrounding forest before he had even the chance to stand from the ground. The faint glimmer of the dying sun on the Elf’s golden hair, nothing more than the play of light upon Legolas' braids, alerted the young human to where the Wood-Elf knelt on the ground a short distance away. _What is he doing?_ the Adan asked himself, though he was ecstatic to see the Elf up and about. _Perhaps he is better. Maybe he is finding food, or some herbs that will help us more than those I have found._

A fountainhead of hope, one that came from the Adan’s stalwart belief in the intelligence and hardiness of Elves, swelled within Estel at the thought that the Prince would be better now, that the adult would now be in charge of their well-being again. The worry of caring for the wounded Wood-Elf, of trying to keep them safe, fed, and healthy, slipped from the human’s shoulders and he ran to the archer with renewed enthusiasm. Although the Silvan should have heard the Adan long before Estel had grown close, the Prince did not move. Falling to his knees beside the archer, the human laid a hand on the Elf’s hand, which was tapping absently against the exposed root of a tree.

“Legolas,” Estel whispered so as not to surprise the Prince, but also because in the hush of the evening forest, it seemed discordant to speak too loudly and break the peace of the woods. “Legolas, we should leave. We need to go home.” The Wood-Elf stared at him, through him, and the Adan’s belief that Legolas would be better after their short respite drained from him, leaving him as parched for hope as both lost travelers were for water.

Estel removed his hand from the Prince’s hand and used his fingers to press against his temples. _What do I do now? I cannot find our way off the mountain and back to Imladris!_ he despaired.

“This is not Mirkwood,” the Prince murmured, breaking the pervasive silence.

Estel smiled in relief to find that Legolas could talk, at least, even should he have a difficult time in understanding what the Adan was trying to say. “No, it is not Mirkwood. We are going to Imladris. We are going to _my_ home.” Grabbing the Elf’s hand once more, the human stood and then pulled Legolas to his feet, wincing when his lacerated belly protested the burden of hauling the Elda upwards.

“I am thirsty.”

“I know, Legolas, as am I. We will find water, but we need to make our way off the mountain.” _He is delirious, but at least he can walk,_ the human tried to comfort himself, saying aloud to Legolas, “We must travel during the night, while the sun sleeps.”

The Prince stared at the Adan, licked his lips, and nodded. “Where are we going, Estel?” the Wood-Elf asked, his body swaying like a green sapling in a storm.

Although the Adan had explained this to the Elda already, Estel’s smile returned, as he was even more relieved to know that the Elf recognized him and could remember his name. Any small sign of hope was better than no hope at all. “We are going to Imladris. Lord Elrond will welcome us there.”

Legolas nodded yet again, accepting this information. _Let us see if he remembers the way there,_ the human thought, his breath hitching in his lungs as the sudden grip of fear held his chest motionless. _If he does not remember…_

He tried to calm himself – Estel had wanted the Elf to sleep, to rest, to be better, but more than any of this, the Adan wanted to go home. Of course, he wanted Legolas to be with him when he went home, but Estel knew that he would never be able to heal the Prince, and so only by going to Imladris would either of them survive. _He has to remember. Please Eru let him remember._

“Legolas,” he said slowly, catching the Elf’s attention before asking, “which way do we travel to reach Rivendell?”

The Elf was trying very hard to concentrate, Estel could tell. With his golden brow furrowed and his nose curled as if in pain, which the Prince was certainly suffering from, Legolas shook his head, admitting, “I do not know. I do not remember being here before.”

 _I do not even know if he has ever been to Imladris, although he said he knew the way yesterday. If he had not traveled to Imladris, and if he was only following directions, then he has likely forgotten them._ Estel fought the panic creeping into his thinking. He had to remain calm. Legolas was not capable of seeing them off the mountain safely, so the Adan would need to have his wits about him. He then thought, _But it is not Imladris we must reach just yet. We need to return to our campsite for herbs and water._

“Legolas,” he tried again, taking the Wood-Elf’s uninjured forearm into his hand to keep the distracted Elda’s attention. “We must travel west, yes? But we wish to travel to where we stayed in the forest, when the Wargs attacked us. Do you remember where we camped?”

“I could climb this tree,” the Wood-Elf offered congenially, as if this suggestion in itself made sense.

Estel sighed, his gaze following Legolas’ gaze up the short elm tree to their side, “What good would that do us?”

The Elf still looked up into the tree; his whole body tilted as his equilibrium was thrown by the movement. “I could see which way to go.”

Putting his hand out to steady the Prince, Estel was tempted to agree, but had to argue out of concern for Legolas’ abilities to climb, “That is not such a good idea. You can barely stand.”

Shrugging his good shoulder, the Elf told the human, “I do not wish to leave. I am thirsty.”

Estel closed his eyes in aggravation. The Prince either did not remember or was too delirious to understand the Adan’s questions – or perhaps both. “Alright, Legolas. We will find you something to ease your thirst,” he told the Wood-Elf, taking the Prince’s hand and leading him towards the currant bushes.

 _Maybe if I give him a few moments, and some juice, Legolas’ senses will return,_ the human told himself, his reassurances empty, just like his hungry, grumbling belly.

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 _It is a beautiful night,_ the Elf thought as he stared into the sky. Although clouds obscured most of the stars, those Legolas could see brought him joy. He waited: the Adan, who the Elf had recognized without truly understanding how he knew the child, was picking berries. The Prince could not recall why the youth was doing this, but it did not seem odd to him. _I am thirsty,_ he thought, the idea new to him, as if he had not just been pondering this dilemma only seconds before.

“Do you have water, Estel?”

The Adan stopped picking berries to glare worriedly at the Elf. “No, Legolas. I do not have water. Here.” Standing, the human grabbed the Prince’s hand, turning over his own palm to let the gathered red currants fall into the Silvan's cupped hand. “Eat these, Legolas.”

Not questioning the Adan, the Elda ate the berries, and for a mere moment, his dehydrated throat seemed soothed. However, his thirst, not merely from lack of water but also from his poison-induced fever, was not ameliorated for long. “I am thirsty,” he told the human.

Estel seemed on the verge of tears. “I know, Legolas. But we have no water,” the human told him. “We are lost in the forest, without supplies and without food. You are fevered and we are both injured, and neither of us knows the way to Imladris,” Estel cried out, disquieting the Elf with the alarm and anguish behind the Adan’s words.

He could not fathom what frightened the human so. Legolas did not feel lost: he was in the forest, and though perhaps it was not his home, it was the woods nonetheless. Why the trees and woodland animals scared Estel, the Elf could not understand. Much like his pain, his confusion kept the fear distant to him – it did not occur to him that they were in danger from Orc or Warg, or other creatures. He had trouble remembering why he and the child were in the forest, much less injured and without supplies. However, none of this mattered to the Prince, not when he could not concentrate beyond a few moments in time.

Legolas’ muddled thinking only supplied to him that his young friend was unwell, and so in his feverish haze, the Elf tried to assuage the child’s fears of being lost. “One cannot be lost in the forest,” he tried to explain, to tell the Adan that for a Wood-Elf, any forest was home.

Nevertheless, this only seemed to frighten Estel especially, for the Adan shook his head tearfully at the Elf, “No, Legolas, I do not want to be in the forest anymore. I am lost, and I want to go home.”

Legolas hesitated, wishing to explain to the child that the forest was not their enemy, that the trees and moon and grass and flowers would aid them, not harm them. However, the Prince soon forgot the source of his indignation, and the Adan asked again, pleading with the Wood-Elf, the tears threatening to fall over the human’s dirty cheeks, “Come with me, Legolas. Please. We should get as far away from these mountains as possible before the sun rises.”

Because it alleviated Estel’s fear, the Elf finally complied, despite his thirst and his desire to return to his sleep. “I will follow you.”

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For the most part, the Wood-Elf kept his word. He followed Estel wherever the Adan decided to take them; Legolas went without complaint but also without advice, leaving Estel to guess as to where they should go. Although he led them west and off the mountain, the Adan, having been unconscious during their travel to the cave with the Orcs, was not leading them the same way they had come. Instead, though the Orcs had traveled northeast, Estel led Legolas due west on their return journey, instead of southwest, which took them farther away from and not closer to their original camp.

“Do not wander off,” he scolded the Elda harshly when he turned around to find that the Elf had stopped walking. “You must stay with me. I do not have the time to find you if you tarry!” Legolas nodded numbly, never once looking at the human or showing that he cared at all, but Estel instantly felt horrible for yelling at the Elf and for taking his frustration and fear out on Legolas. He inhaled a deep breath and then added more quietly, “I need you to come with me, Legolas. Will you try to stay with me?”

Again, the Elf merely nodded. His feverish skin was no longer hot. Shaking with each tremor of poison that pulsed under his raw and reddened flesh, Legolas was freezing. _I should have brought my tunic. It was too small for him to wear, but at least he could have had some cover._

Blinking his eyes to force away the tears gathering there once more, the human child walked back to where Legolas stumbled forward, and grabbed the Prince’s hand, telling himself, _If I sound cruel to him, it is only because I worry._ Getting a delirious Wood-Elf down the mountainside was nearly as frightening as watching over the unconscious Prince. The Elf allowed Estel to hold his hand, and with the uninjured limb, the human guided Legolas into following him.

When his arm would grow tired, or the Prince would tug his hand out of Estel’s hand so that the Elf could push the hair from his face, rub at his dirty and infected chest, or wander to a tree or flower for his confused inspection, Estel would kindly allow the Wood-Elf a few moments of freedom before taking the archer’s hand again in his. He was not willing to lose the Elf in the wilderness, not when Legolas was injured all because of Estel.

However, he soon grew tired of keeping track of the Elf and thought petulantly, _I would be better off if I had some rope to tie him to me!_

Estel frowned at the Prince, who did not seem aware of the danger they were in or the life-threatening illness that was ravaging the Wood-Elf’s body. So instead, Estel walked away, turning to make sure that Legolas followed, which the Elf did automatically, obediently, as if by instinct he would go where Estel chose to take him. The young human sighed and continued their journey, glancing over his shoulder to be sure that Legolas was not too far behind.

He soon became immersed in his thoughts, and was submerged in the overwhelming task of assuring their safety. _When we were attacked by the Wargs,_ he thought, _I acted foolishly. I will not be so again. This time I will know if anything is coming._ He was no Elf, but thought that if he were vigilant enough then he could avoid danger before it struck. _I cannot let Legolas be hurt again because I am a silly child._

It wasn’t until an hour later, long after the sun had set properly and the human had grown tired of trying to find their way through the forest, that the Adan realized, _I have left the Orc bow and sword under the bush!_ He stopped mid-step in his walking, his mouth falling open. _We walk aimlessly through the forest without even a weapon._ Estel whirled around to Legolas, to see how the Wood-Elf fared and whether the Prince could manage to walk back up the foothill the distance to their temporary shelter. _Idiot,_ he told himself, shaking his head as he turned to face the archer, and fully expecting the Wood-Elf to be right behind him, _I doubt I could even find my way back to our bush!_

He did not see the Elf at first but did not think of it immediately. Instead, the Adan stared at where he expected the Prince to be, as if the missing Elda would suddenly appear from the cool night air. _If I cannot find our way back to the bush, and I cannot even find our way to our old campsite, then we will have no weapons. Our only hope is to make for Imladris as quickly as possible, and to pray to Ilúvatar that we encounter nothing unfriendly._

Tilting his head to the side in thought, Estel contemplated, _If Legolas can’t remember the way to Imladris, perhaps he will remember something about what paths we should avoid trying to get there, to avoid danger._

The human continued to stare where he thought the archer to be, shaking his head in disbelief when it finally hit him – Legolas was gone. 


	17. Chapter 17

The Orcs and Wargs had broken every sapling they passed, flattened every blade of grass that they had neared, and had pounded their boots into the soil as if trying to compact it on purpose. Needless to say, the twins had no difficulty in determining where the Orcs where going. Running only a pace behind Elladan, Elrohir trailed his twin up the foothill and had already been doing so for several hours.

At the fringe of the woods, they stopped their sprint: a long incline of stones and loose soil led up the foothill to the beginnings of the Misty Mountains proper. To one side was a long overhang of rock, its top accessible only by walking a lengthy ways further right and then up the foothill even more, and its underneath stretching far out across a flat plain of stony earth. To the other side, where the overhanging rock of the mountainside began, sat the mouth of a cave.

However, in front of the two Noldor brothers, cooling in the night air, laid yet another dead Warg. _Someone has been on a Warg killing spree,_ Elrohir thought offhandedly, not at all minding the death of the beast, of course, but his mind immediately wondering what the Warg’s demise would portend for Estel.

Stuck within the Warg’s thick hide was not one but two arrows, the first of the same fletching that the twins had found on the broken arrow by the first campsite they had come across, the one where they had determined Estel to have met a stranger, and also the same as those that had pierced the Wargs at the travelers’ campsite. The second arrow, though, with its dark wood and poorly carved tip, was of Orc make.

 _Why would an Orc injure his own mount?_ the younger twin deliberated, eying the second arrow. The Warg had died by blade; at least, this much was obvious from the sticky, congealed claret covering the Warg’s furry hide.

When Elladan knelt, his hand on his sword, the younger twin forgot his ponderings and followed suit without thinking, dropping to his knees beside his brother. “What is it, Elladan?” the younger twin whispered so softly not even another Elf could have understood him.

Elladan knew what his twin had asked, but only because he had anticipated the question. “The Orcs will be in that cave. They would not have traveled up the mountains any further – this cave is their shelter.”

Why his twin concluded this, Elrohir did not need to ask; as Orcs did not prefer to travel during the day and required a dark habitat when Anor was in the sky, and also because the foul creatures could not stand the forests, the Orcs who had taken Estel and the Wood-Elf were likely to be in a stone shelter, and this one was just as good as any they might find further up the mountainside. Without communicating his intention to his twin, for such a thing was not needed between the two brothers, Elrohir began to climb the rocky incline, leaving Elladan behind; the elder twin had his bow ready, an arrow notched and prepared to fly, should any Orc or Warg appear.

The stones and rocks shifted under his feet, making the steep ground hard to climb quietly, even for an Elf, but the younger twin made his way up the hill as quickly as he could, forsaking quietude. The young human, and perhaps a fellow Elf, were captives to the Orcs within the cave, and Elrohir did not wish to leave the two captives in the Orcs’ possession any longer.

When the Noldo had reached the mouth of the cave, he did not provide for his twin the same courtesy of ensuring Elladan’s safety in climbing the incline, but crept towards the aperture in the rocky face of the mountains. _I will only look,_ he told himself, though he felt Elladan’s impatience to join Elrohir at the top of the foothill. _I will only look, and if Estel and the Wood-Elf are alive, I will wait for Elladan, else I am going on my own killing spree._

Sneaking around the edge of the rock, the Elda peered into the cavern, moving slowly so not to catch the attention of anyone inside. However, there was no movement inside the cave, no light in the darkness, and no sounds from within. _It is night; the Orcs may not even be here._

Depending on his keen vision to see, as the inside of the cave was as black as the hearts of the Orcs who lived there, Elrohir stepped into the mouth of the cave, and instantly felt his twin’s apprehension rise. _You will just have to wait,_ he spoke to Elladan, as if his brother could hear his thoughts. It was very likely that Elladan knew exactly what Elrohir was thinking, for the elder twin’s fear seemed to escalate even more, especially when the younger twin walked further into the cavern.

Several dead creatures lay on the floor, and from their bulk and the foul stench of their unwashed clothing and bodies, Elrohir surmised, _The Orcs are dead as well._ None of the beasts shifted. He could see no other beings, not a Wood-Elf or the Adan, amongst the dead Orcs, and so sighed, not sure whether this finding would prove to be favorable or not. Finally, Elrohir exited the cave, motioning to his brother with a wave of his hand that the way was clear, and at once, Elladan sprinted up the hill to his twin.

“What have you found, Elrohir?” the elder twin asked when he had reached the top, his fear for his twin brother relieved, but his fear for his human brother only magnified.

“The Orcs are dead. No living thing is within the cave, though I am uncertain if only Orcs lie within,” he intimated, stepping back into the cave with Elladan right behind him.

The twins searched the cavern silently for clues of the young Adan’s whereabouts, both dreading to find Estel’s body, or some remnants of him, amongst the Orcs’ remains.

 _The Orcs have spent much time in this cave,_ the younger Noldo thought, his bile rising to see the evidence of recent torture.

Coarse hemp rope, encrusted with dark, dried blood into a stiff circle, lay on the floor. A large iron ring was driven into the ceiling, and as Elrohir looked around the cave, he saw several others that had been attached to the rock around the wall’s bottom. Several branches, varying in length, age, and thickness, were scattered under the iron ring in the ceiling, leading Elrohir to conclude aloud, “These Orcs have held captives here recently.”

Picking up a few scraps of cloth from the litter and filth covered cavern floor, Elladan held the light blue remnants out to Elrohir, saying, “This is certainly not an Orc’s clothing. Our missing brother and the Wood-Elf have been here.” Although only tatters, what was left of the undershirt was covered in blood and dirt, and one-half of it had been torn completely away and was nowhere to be found.

The cloth was not of anything Estel owned, Elrohir was sure, because the young Adan had always preferred drab colors for his clothing and from the size of the shirt, if whole, it would be too big for Estel anyway.

“They have been tortured,” Elrohir despaired. “But there is no blood,” he said, looking on the floor around him to ascertain that he was speaking truthfully; in looking, the Noldo saw a dagger, the twisted but sharp blade was covered in the black blood of an Orc, but also in the bright claret of human blood. “Except here,” Elrohir told his brother, seizing the offensive dagger from the floor. “This is Estel’s blood.”

Elladan argued, walking to stand beside his twin to inspect the dagger for himself, “But there is Orc blood on this dagger as well, Elrohir. Whatever Orc has hurt Estel is likely one of these lying dead at our feet. There are no bodies save for those of the Warg and these Orcs. The Wood-Elf, or perhaps even Estel, has slain them.”

“Perhaps there are no bodies because we are too late.” Elrohir shuddered; the Orcs would eat anything, including the flesh from an Elf or Adan, and once more, his bile rose to think his adopted sibling would have met such a fate.

Elladan repudiated that conclusion immediately, tugging at his brother’s arm to lead him out of the cave. “There would be bones, brother, even if no other remains.”

“Not if the Warg has eaten them before she was killed.”

His blithe remark earned Elrohir a scathing frown from his twin, who stopped dragging the younger twin from the cave and crossed his arms over his chest as he told his brother, “They are alive, Elrohir. Who would have slain the Warg if not for them? The Orcs would not kill their own mount. Who would have killed the Orcs, if not for our brother or the Wood-Elf?”

Reigning in the sharp retort nearly loosing itself from the confines of his grief-ridden mind, Elrohir bit his lip instead, bowing his head in acquiescence to his brother’s conclusion. “I do not suggest that we do not search for them, Elladan. I only offer that we should not become hopeful to find them alive, if we find them at all.”

Upon raising his head, Elrohir could feel, as well as see, the same misery in his twin’s face as he felt. Elladan only walked away, leaving the cave and its dead inhabitants behind, as well as his twin; but Elrohir followed, desiring to know what his twin was doing. _We will never find them. The cave only tapers as it deepens, and neither an Elf nor a small human could be any further inside than we have seen._ Watching his twin walk around the rocky slope, Elrohir fought the urge to sit on the ground and weep. _How can we take word back to Ada that we have lost Estel forever?_

The relationship between the young Adan and his twin brothers had been strained: Elrohir was sure that Estel did not even consider Lord Elrond as a father or the twins as his brothers any longer. Earlier in his stay in Imladris, when the human was younger, Estel had loved Elladan and Elrohir, had been amused and awed with their warrior skills, songs, and teasing, but this affection had not lasted. As the Adan aged, Estel had slowly slipped away from them, his time spent alone, brooding and withdrawn. Even still, the twins loved the young human no less, and they, as well as their father and much of Imladris, would never be the same without their Estel.

“Elrohir!” Drawn from his thoughts by his twin’s call, Elrohir raced to where Elladan was kneeling on one knee, close to where the dead Warg lay. “Thank the One,” the elder Elf told his younger sibling, bending down to the human’s footprints, “for giving Estel and whatever Wood-Elf who found him such stubborn dispositions!”

Elrohir nodded, his excitement causing the elder Noldo to smile, before he and Elladan trailed the tracks to the edge of the woods. “They were walking back to Imladris before they were caught, and now they walk there again,” the younger Elda contemplated, eying the forest-laden hillside up which they had just climbed, and down which they would climb now. “We could have passed them on the way here.”

That they could possibly have passed the injured beings, both of whom were likely in need of medicines and protection in their weakened state, caused Elladan to jump to his feet, beginning his walk down the hillside before Elrohir had even risen. “Come, Elrohir,” he called over his shoulder. “We will find them before dawn breaks, I am sure of it, since they are both injured and moving slowly. Let us go.”

Nodding his agreement, the younger twin adjusted the burden of the Wood-Elf and Estel’s belongings on his shoulder, and then followed his brother down the hillside, his belief strong that they would soon find Estel and the mysterious stranger, but his heart worried over what condition in which they might find the two missing beings.

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“Legolas!” the Adan shouted, searching his surroundings frantically with his gaze.

 _Where is he off to now?_ As it was night and the moon barely shone through the clouds overhead, there was very little illumination by which to see the Prince, even should Estel know where to look. _Foolish Wood-Elf! He is off looking for water, no doubt._

His anger at the Elda for wandering off, coupled with his aggravation at being lost in the forest, the pain of his wounded belly, the throbbing of his bruised legs, and the headache from the gash on his forehead, made Estel groan with self-pity. He said aloud in hopes that the Wood-Elf might be nearby to hear, “I told you that I do not have the time to find you should you tarry, Legolas! Where are you?”

Receiving no answer, and not expecting that he should, Estel stomped a few feet forward, up the hill, before he stopped. _I do not even know which way he walked._

Now that they were at the bottom of the foothill, the forest had grown far denser than the short scrub and thin trees from higher elevations. Here, the trees were tall and thick, their corpulent bodies blocking the Adan’s view of his surroundings, and the tall grasses and bushes barring the Wood-Elf from sight, should the Elf have fallen. _He could even be in a tree,_ the human despaired to himself, motionless in his indecision as to how to find the missing Elda. Quite literally, Legolas could be anywhere in the forest save for in the direction Estel had been headed. The Adan only knew which way he had been traveling because they had been walking down the hill, and thus had followed the sharp decline of the ground.

 _If I look for him, I will only become even more lost,_ he complained bitterly, the brief idea of leaving Legolas to fend for himself crossing his mind, though he rejected this immediately.

While back in the cave, watching the foul Orc carve into Legolas’ skin with the dirty blade the beast had used, Estel had thought of what infection might be caused from that disgusting, filthy dagger. At the time, the Adan had only wished that Legolas would live long enough to be infected, rather than have the Prince die hanging in the Orc cave, the feast for the Dark creatures’ ravenous appetites. At _this_ time, however, Estel thought to himself, _I have my wish! Legolas survived the Orcs only to be dying from infection and it is this infection that has made him delirious._

This line of thought served to dampen the young human’s raging anger, for he suddenly realized, _Legolas was only infected because we were caught by the Orcs, and we were only caught by the Orcs because I could not fight them._ Emotion flooded through Estel, making his eyes water when the shame and guilt crested in his thinking. _Why wasn’t I paying more attention to Legolas? There is no telling where he is, or what he is suffering while alone in the forest._

Estel fell to his hands and knees, the disgrace of the situation deluging his body, wave after wave of humiliation knocking the air from his chest in a sharp cry of sorrow. _And I stand here ranting at him for being lost! All of this is my doing. He would not even have needed to battle the Orcs had it not been for me. If I had never run away from Imladris in the first place, Legolas would be well and in Rivendell already._ He stayed bent to the ground, the urge to vomit a strong one, and only the pain of his belly kept him from giving in to this desire.

The irony of his circumstance was not lost on Estel. Legolas wandered the forest, looking for water. Estel wandered the forest looking for Legolas. Although he could not be certain, the Adan also believed that Elladan and Elrohir were wandering the forest looking for the human. Snorting a brief laugh of incredulity, one that held as little mirth as his growling belly did food, Estel finally stood on his knees, telling himself as he gazed once more at the woods around him, _If this worry and fear I feel for Legolas are anything like what Lord Elrond and the twins are experiencing over my disappearance right now, then I will never leave home without permission again!_

Still seeing no sign of the Wood-Elf, the Adan scrambled to his feet, drawing a very important distinction between his and the Prince’s disappearances in telling himself, _Except I had my wits about me when I left Imladris, while Legolas does not._ Imagining the Prince – who had saved the young Adan’s life many times over in the two days Estel had known the Elda – roaming the forest, looking for water to quench the thirst brought about by the poison that was caused at its root by Estel’s ignorance, solidified the human’s intentions. He would find Legolas, even if it only meant both their deaths.

“The longer I wait, the more lost he will become,” the Adan child muttered to himself. He would need to recall everything the twins had taught him to find the Wood-Elf, and with this in mind, the Adan first found his own footprints in the soft soil and crushed grass, and then followed his own path back up the hill, looking for any sign of the Prince’s departure. He found no Elven footprints.

_How long has he not been behind me as I walked? I should never have let go of his hand._

After half an hour of trudging up the hill, checking every inch of the forest floor painstakingly, the Adan found what he was looking for: instead of only one set of footprints, there were two, one deep and easily seen, and the other barely a press of the soft soil. The former he knew to be his own, but the latter were Legolas’ boot prints. With the fever and exhaustion the Elf was enduring, Legolas’ footprints were abnormally perceptible, for the Elda had apparently been dragging his feet.

 _Lucky for me,_ the Adan told himself, kneeling next to one such indentation in the ground.

As he found exactly where the Wood-Elf’s prints seemed to stop, Estel was dismayed upon thinking, _If he has climbed a tree, I will never be able to track him. What then?_ There were no more prints – the Elf had seemingly jumped straight into the limbs. Estel peered into the tree above him, praying to Ilúvatar, _Please do not have let him climbed a tree._ Again, the Adan’s thoughts played out for him a horrific imagining of the unsteady archer falling from one of the tall elms or oaks. _He could break an arm or leg, or his neck,_ the human worried, crawling on his hands and knees a few feet to the right to look for more signs of the Elf. _I would never even be able to find him to help._

Nothing lay on the ground to the right of where the Wood-Elf’s prints ceased: not allowing himself to be discouraged, the young Adan merely crawled on his hands and knees to the left of where Legolas and he had unintentionally parted ways. There, amongst the long decayed leaves of last year’s autumn, broken and crumpled by time and the elements, was a sign.

The leaves were disrupted. The top layer, dried from the sun while the bottom layer, still moist from the last rain this part of the forest had seen, had their positions reversed, the leaves in disarray and the soggy under layer exposed. _Something has been this way,_ Estel decided, moving forward to inspect the leaves further. The long line of disturbance, leading away from Estel’s own footsteps and towards a small, open meadow, was not necessarily caused by the Prince, but the human hoped it to be. The young Adan hopped to his feet to trail it nevertheless, for he could always follow the odd path back if it turned out to be some animal and not the Wood-Elf.

When he reached the meadow, the human bent down once more to inspect the ground, and a wide smile broke out on his bruised and dirty face to see the soft indents of footprints on the ground. _Surely, this is Legolas,_ he told himself happily. _The prints are just the same as the ones from where we walked together._

More noticeable than the small press of the soil was the way in which the tall grasses of the clearing were spread – Legolas had walked through this open glade, and had been walking south. _At least he does not head north. We can still walk towards Imladris after I find him,_ the Adan decided, hoping that this supposition was correct, and not bothering to say _if_ he found Legolas, for in Estel’s mind, he was not leaving the forest unless the Wood-Elf was leaving with him.

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 _There must be water close by._ Legolas found it hard not to stumble, to keep his footsteps quiet and himself hidden from anyone or anything that might be interested in an ill Wood-Elf, but he soon forgot why he wished to be quiet, and began to stagger through the forest, making entirely too much noise. _I am thirsty._

The Prince did not remember why he was in the woods. He did not remember the Orcs, the Wargs, or even the young human he had left behind – at least, he could not remember Estel since he had lost sight of the Adan. At one point during their trek, the Elda’s overwhelming desire for water had caused the Elf to stop, to seek the advice of a tree. The old white oak had tried to tell Legolas where he might find what he sought, but the ways in which Wood-Elves speak to trees does not use language, and the same confusion that clouded the Prince’s mind into making him uncertain of where he was continued to obscure his ability to understand what the tree told him. Once more, Legolas had been no more knowledgeable after his asking, and still he did not know where he might find water.

 _This is not Mirkwood,_ he reminded himself, even though his feet still carried him forward instinctively to where his memory told him the Forest River would be. Dark and shadowy because of the night, the Wood-Elf believed on occasion that he was in Eryn Galen, instead of lost in a dark, shadowy woods that only looked in the night as his home did during the day.

 _What has happened to my tunic?_ the Wood-Elf asked himself. Shivering with the cold, although his flesh burned with fever, the Prince rubbed his unbound arm across his stomach as if he could get warm this way. Abstracted from his need for water for a moment, the Elf looked on the ground around him, intending to gather some wood for a fire, but he thought, _I could wait until I am home to get warm. There will be plenty of warmth in the hall of fire._

His mind slipped into a memory of sitting with his father by the fire, his brothers and sisters around him, the tangy smell of burning cedar filling the hall, and the other Wood-Elves singing and dancing as they enjoyed a night of merrymaking spent inside, rather than out, because of a fierce winter ice storm. Legolas had been laughing and enjoying a fine goblet of Dorwinion wine, listening to some tale his father was sharing of times before Legolas had been born.

 _Wine. I would that I had some wine now,_ the agitated Elf decided, blinking his eyes slowly as the thought occurred to him, _I am thirsty._

He hurt. His chest, his back, his arms, his head – even his legs, which had sustained little injury except for a few bruises from the Orcs’ beating, ached with an intensity that the more cogent parts of Legolas’ mind realized was an ill portent. The poison that ravaged his system was shutting down his body slowly, beginning with the loss of rational thought and eventuating in the paralysis of his muscles, his internal organs, and if not treated, ending in the cessation of the Wood-Elf’s laboring heart. Unaware of this eventuality, the Elf merely walked.

In some part of what was left of his rational thought, Legolas knew he was dying. The idea did not frighten him overly much. One could not be a warrior for centuries and fear death too greatly, although death was always foremost on a warrior’s mind; however, dying comfortably seemed a much better notion than dying while thirsty, and so the Prince stumbled onwards, seeking the brook he was certain would be only a few more steps ahead. 


	18. Chapter 18

“They stopped here.”

 _That is obvious, Elrohir,_ the elder twin thought but did not say aloud.

He was trying very hard not to take out his frustration on his brother, but after walking down the mountainside for hours, following the awkward trail of two obviously wounded beings, one of whom was the young Adan they had accepted as a brother, Elladan found it very hard to hold his tongue. “That is no news. They have stopped several times.”

Elladan watched his twin search the ground: it was Elrohir’s turn to trail, and Elladan’s turn to remain attentive to the dangerous environment as they walked down hillside. It was a good thing, too, for a crick had developed in Elladan’s neck that was not aiding his sour mood. He rubbed his aching shoulders as he watched his brother.

“This tree,” the younger twin murmured, squatting down to look at the trunk more closely. “It is wet with blood.” Rubbing his fingertip into one such dark, moist spot, Elrohir then sniffed the claret on his hand, saying, “Whoever sat against this tree is in horrible shape. His blood smells off… as if it is tainted. I do not think it is Estel’s blood, either.”

 _Tainted?_ Elladan shook his head, his impatience to leave this site making him disregard Elrohir’s intimations. Above all else, the elder twin wished to find the Adan; pondering over hours old evidence did not help them find Estel, or so Elladan thought, and he did not want to play the audience to Elrohir’s inductive reasoning.

“Come, brother,” he suggested firmly. “Let us go. There is no need to determine what happened now, for if we find them, they can just explain it to us!”

They should not have been trying to track their brother at night. The chance that they might lose the Adan’s trail was much greater during the dark, but neither twin wished to stop, not when it is was likely that their brother was injured. Their findings at this new site were like those they had encountered several times along this wayward path the two travelers had chosen down the hillside: it seemed that Estel and the Wood-Elf had stopped often as they walked, which only lent more credence to Elladan’s belief that the two were in serious trouble.

But Elrohir only searched the ground around them, saying, “Just a moment, muindor.” Picking up a long, flat rock, the younger twin held it up in the scant moonlight. A dark, red substance was smeared across the limestone. This, too, did Elrohir smell. “Currants. I wonder what they were doing, smashing currants onto this rock…”

“It does not matter, Elrohir. Let us leave!”

Shooting his elder brother a grimace of annoyance, the younger Noldo continued to search the forest floor. “Fine, Elladan! Let me find their path again,” he complied, “and then we will go.”

It took several moments for Elrohir to find that the prints were more scattered here than before: while the softer, lighter, and barely perceptible prints of the Wood-Elf were not as numerous, those of the Adan showed that Estel had been performing his own search of the nearby forest. Elladan followed his twin as Elrohir trailed the convoluted path the Adan had taken – to a clump of dandelions, to a nearby patch of burdock, and then to a tangle of currants did the prints lead them.

Eventually, however, though they could not discern in what order all of this occurred, they had followed the path to a nearby shrub. On the ground before the shrub was a shallow gouge of the soft dirt, appearing very much as if someone, or something, had been dragged inside.

The short-lived hope that their brother and the Wood-Elf might be within caused Elladan to push aside the branches at the top of the bush; no living beings did he see on the ground underneath, though he whispered loudly, “Estel?”

With no answer, Elladan searched the nearby bushes, as well, while Elrohir told him, looking himself through the branches and into the tall shrub, “There is something shiny here, and cloth of some sort.” Crawling under the bush, Elrohir called out his findings. “An Orc sword, some dandelions,” the younger twin recited. “Burdock. An Orc bow and arrows.” Hastily, Elrohir backed his way out of the bush, a dark shirt in his hand. “And Estel’s tunic.”

Elladan seized the cloth from his twin’s hands to inspect for himself. Odd stripes of blood were pressed onto the outside of the cloth, as if they had not come from Estel – at least, not while he was wearing the tunic, for they did not stain the inner side. Dirt and grime covered the dark cloth, as well. A cut in the fabric of the front of the shirt, right where the human’s belly would have been, was seeped in sticky, drying blood.

 _This is Estel’s blood,_ the Noldo worried, giving his twin a sidelong glance as Elrohir rose from the ground to inspect the tunic with Elladan. Sharing a heightened moment of near panic, the two Noldor instinctually drew closer together in need of comfort, ere Elrohir frowned at the cloth, and his mouth quirked into a smile.

“More currants?” Elrohir’s odd question was followed by his twisting the fabric in his twin’s hand, flipping it over to expose a rubicund, bright stain of mashed currant berries on the tunic. “It seems our little brother has found food, and shelter, and has made some medicines. At least he has not forgotten all of our lessons!”

He had not thought of their findings as such, but once Elrohir had said this aloud, Elladan had to agree. _These bushes would cover them well from most predators, and I am certain he used the rocks and pulp we found to make some sort of tonic._ “Then you think the Wood-Elf is the one who was dragged into the bushes? What makes you think this?”

Elrohir shrugged his shoulders. “It was the Wood-Elf’s blood on the tree. He must be severely injured.” Tapping his finger against his mouth, the younger twin then sighed. “Poison,” the younger twin supplied, gazing around the clearing. “Dandelions, burdock, the currants, and pulp of all of these on the rock – our little brother was trying to treat the tainted blood of the Elf who had bled on the tree.”

Kneeling down to the ground, Elrohir quickly found that the two travelers were headed down the hillside once again. “If they took shelter under the bush, then these tracks,” he said, pointing to where the tracks of the Adan and the Wood-Elf resumed, “might be only hours old. We are gaining on them.”

Shivering unconsciously at the idea of such a horrible death, for Orc poison was a most painful and awful way to die, Elladan implored his brother, “Let us leave.” This time, his twin heeded his demand without argument.

_Estel is trying to help the Wood-Elf, but Orc poison needs a much stronger cure than dandelions. We must find them soon!_

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It was late at night, or very early in the morning, depending on how one wanted to measure time, and Elrond could not have found rest if he tried.

The Elven leader stood lost in his thoughts where he and Lord Erestor were purveying the gardens. Trying to distract himself from young Estel’s disappearance, the Imladrian Lord had been intent upon helping Erestor with the preparations for the Prince of Mirkwood’s welcoming banquet, and now, with his advisor, they walked through the pleasance to instruct the helpful servants as to repairs needed.

That they didn’t know when the Prince would arrive did not help their preparations, and Elrond’s mind, though he tried to keep it focused on his task, would follow the worried contemplations of his heart, instead, and he would wander aimlessly around the garden in misery.

Even now, he found himself motionless along the edge of the juniper bushes, eying the stringed lanterns hanging from the proud and beautiful red maples that towered above them. Plucking one such lantern from the dark, late night sky where it dangled by a thin cord of Elven rope, Elrond tugged it free from its knot for inspection. In a few hours, the sun would rise, and the lanterns would not be needed, which is why they inspected them now, while the oil still burned.

“Think not of it, my Lord,” Erestor advised, drawing Elrond from his causal examination.

“How can I not?” he asked in return, knowing exactly of what his advisor spoke. Fiddling with the latch on the lantern, Elrond opened the hinged glass plane to peer inside the intricate oil lamp. “Estel is but a babe…”

The steady, significant clap of shoed horse hooves on cobblestone interrupted Elrond’s reply. He and Erestor watched the messenger enter the courtyard from where they stood in the adjoining garden. Recognizing the riders as his own people, and warriors at that, Elrond then realized that the Noldo behind his fellow kinsmen on the horse was none other than Handolin, the last warrior who had been traveling with Elrond’s twin sons in searching for Estel.

Immediately, Lord and advisor strode to where Handolin was dismounting and giving his brief thanks to his fellow warrior for the ride: the Noldo nodded his head and spurred his horse away, most likely back to his post with the border guard. Elrond paid the other Elf no mind, for he wanted only to question Handolin.

The warrior turned around, only to be startled by the sudden appearance of Elrond and Erestor. “My Lord,” he said, bowing slightly before he began his explanation without needing to be asked, “Your sons, Lords Elrohir and Elladan, sent me back with word.”

From the wary, nervous glint of Handolin’s eyes, the warrior was afraid to tell his news, perhaps from fear of Elrond’s reaction, or simply because he did not wish to be the bearer of ill news. “I am glad that you have returned safely, Handolin. Where are my sons?”

“Had I not encountered a patrol as I ran, it would likely have been dawn ere I arrived.” The warrior bowed again slightly, stalling from answering. With a pious and serious glare from Elrond, however, the tense warrior explained, “We found more evidence of Estel’s unknown companion. Lords Elladan and Elrohir believe a Wood-Elf to have found young Estel, and that the Wood-Elf and Estel were heading to Imladris.”

“Wood-Elf?” Elrond’s mind worked quickly, the acumen for which he was known assessing this new information with what he already knew – that is, that Legolas of Eryn Galen, the Wood-Elf Prince, was expected to arrive in Imladris within the next few days. Such fortunate happenstance had not occurred to him before. Handing to Erestor the lantern he had taken for inspection, the Imladrian Lord’s burden of sorrow lifted for a brief moment. “Then Estel is safe? Where are he, this Wood-Elf, and the twins?”

The sentinel shifted on his weary feet nervously, causing Erestor to prompt, “You bring more news?”

“Estel and the Wood-Elf were attacked. Dead Wargs we found, and the weapons of both the Wood-Elf and the knife Estel carries with him, in addition to a satchel the Silvan carried.” Shaking his head, Handolin assured Elrond, “But we found no bodies. Your sons believe that Estel and the Wood-Elf were taken as captives. They follow their tracks now.”

“You did not go with them,” Erestor queried of Handolin, “to help them find Estel?”

Elrond answered for the now flustered Handolin, telling Erestor, “The twins have sent Handolin back to us not just to bring news.” Elrond gazed up at the slowly lightening sky for a moment. His beloved, adopted Adan son, and the youngest Prince of King Thranduil – both in the hands of Orcs. What travesties Orcs forced upon their captives, the Lord of Imladris knew well.

“Amass warriors, and supplies,” he ordered curtly of Erestor, who nodded immediately his acquiescence, their task of planning the Prince’s arrival banquet forgotten, as the condition in which the Wood-Elf would be arriving would not be one for celebration. “Ready my own horse,” he added, turning on heel to walk from the courtyard.

Erestor and the warrior, weary from his run through the forest but more than willing to return to the forest to find the missing Adan and Prince, both followed Elrond as he walked through one of the many airy and arched entrances into the Last Homely House. “Estel and the Prince will likely need a healer, and even with Elladan and Elrohir there with our lost ones, one of the twins may also become injured in fighting the Orcs. They will need our aid at once.”

Both Handolin and Erestor hurried away to prepare as to Elrond’s specifications. It was not often that the Lord of Imladris rode out against the enemy, for the enemies were few around Imladris’ protected valley, and there were adept soldiers aplenty in Rivendell without needing Elrond to join the fray. In fact, the last time that Elrond had left his palatial home on such a task was when fronting the search for his missing wife. After many hours of searching and worry, his sons had finally found Celebrian. He still had terrible nights of restless reverie where he recalled this singularly most horrific event in his life.

That Estel, and the Prince of Mirkwood, as well, were likely enduring much the same as Celebrian had endured caused the Imladrian Lord’s heart to pound as he dressed in suitable traveling attire. _We will not find them in such a state. Estel and the Prince will be well, and the twins, too._

The possibility that Estel would not be found alive by the twins or worse yet, that the innocent Adan would be forever marred emotionally and physically by this tormenting experience was impossible for Elrond’s fatherly heart to contemplate.


	19. Chapter 19

He was more tired than he could ever remember being. Between the growing pain of his wounded belly and his worry over the missing Wood-Elf, Estel could barely concentrate on following the telltale tracks that the wounded Prince had made while drifting through the forest.

Estel thanked the coming dawn as he followed the Wood-Elf’s path, however. A heavy, drizzling rain had begun, its fat drops of cold water poured over the Adan’s head, weighting his hair down until it hung in wet strands over his face. It washed away the dirt, grime, and blood on his chest, back, and face, but it soaked into his boots such that his every step caused the leather to rub painfully against his tired feet, to squelch with annoying, sucking sounds as his boots became mired in mud.

Deciding that he should be catching up to the immortal soon, the Adan told himself, _I couldn’t be that far behind him. He was walking slower than I am walking now._

No sooner had he said this than the human stopped walking when he heard something odd. Over the pattering of rain and the distant rumble of thunder, the sound of gurgling water could be heard. Immediately, Estel’s spirits rose. _Legolas has found water,_ he thought, and was sure that the Elda would be here, for he was certain that the febrile Elf had wandered off to find a place to sate his thirst. Running towards the sound of the moving water, Estel stopped once more when he saw tangled blond hair spread out across the grass, though what it belonged to was hidden behind the trunk of the tree by which the hair laid. As he drew closer, Estel then saw the pale face of the Elda, as well. It seemed that the Wood-Elf was on the banks of a small stream, and to Estel, no more welcome sight could he have found.

“Legolas!” he shouted out, hoping to rouse the immortal with his exuberant call. No motion came from the Prince, and as the Adan ran closer to the Elf, a good-natured lecture forming in his mind to tell the Wood-Elf just what he thought of Legolas wandering off, Estel’s second shout of welcome became a soft mewl of alarm.

The Elf lay only a few feet away from the trickling stream, his injured arm, only half in the makeshift sling the Prince had wrapped around it, was under the Elf. _He has fallen as he walked. I bet he did not even get a drink,_ the Adan thought, rushing as fast as he could to where the Wood-Elf had collapsed. Dropping to his knees beside the archer, Estel rolled the Prince onto his side, and then onto his back. Legolas’ skin was chilly, his coloring too ashen, even for the normally fair Wood-Elf, and he showed no signs of awareness. _He burned with fever before, and now he shivers as if cold!_ the Adan exclaimed to himself. With nothing to wrap around the Prince, for both Elf and human were clad only in their breeches and boots, Estel sighed, saying aloud, “Yesterday we could have used you, rain, but now you are not wanted!”

Luckily, or at least as little luck as the human could hope for given their dismal circumstances, the Prince had fallen so that he lay under the thick canopy of the tree overhead. Only a few drops of the cold rain that the gray sky was now pouring down upon them made their way past this barrier.

 _I should try to warm him. We need a fire._ Without waiting to rejoice on having found the missing Prince, Estel scurried around the creek’s shore, picking up as many small limbs as he could, careful to choose only those that had long been lying on the ground, for the green ones would not burn like the older ones. With his arms full of twigs and small branches, the human stopped dead in his tracks at the thought: _Everything is wet from the rain._ He worried, _I hope I can start a fire._ But he continued in his task, for the Elf lying nearby needed the Adan’s efforts. He dropped his load onto the ground close to the Elf, and close to the tree, as well, so that they could maintain the scant shelter of the tree’s overhanging, leaf-laden limbs.

 _The leaves,_ he decided. _The leaves will help me!_

With his hands as shovels, Estel plowed into the thick blanket of leaves, left under the tree from last year’s autumn. The long dead foliage was soggy on top from the rain, but the underneath, while still moist from recent downpours and having seen no sun, was dry enough to use to help kindle the limbs and branches.

Pleased with his ingenuity, Estel piled the driest of the leaves into a heap, his eyes already surveying their surroundings for herbs while thinking, _With fire, I will be able to give Legolas warmth, and maybe I can make him a tonic that will help him._

His twin brothers had shown the Adan several means of starting campfires, the easiest of which was from using a flint to gain a spark from pyrite. Estel was proficient at using the flint rock and golden, iron rock for this purpose, but had none in his possession. The Elf, however, had used these to start a fire the night before last at their campsite, and if it were not lost from the events of the past two days, it should be in Legolas’ pocket, just where the Elf had returned it after starting their campfire.

Estel searched the Elf, finding the two rocks just where he had expected it to be. _This is good fortune,_ he told himself in an attempt to instill some optimism into his miserable existence.

Plopping down on the ground beside his pile of limbs, the Adan drew to him the old leaves and arranged his gathered goods into what he hoped would incite the limbs and foliage to burn, and then dug with his hands around his arrangement to keep the other leaves from catching fire, as well. “You should not have wandered away,” he told the Elf with a bright smile, “but at least you have found water, and now I can treat your wounds, friend.”

Striking the flint against the aureate stone once, Estel smiled wider with anticipation. _I could use the warmth myself,_ he thought, for his own arms and chest prickled with the cold rainwater.

At first, though the flint sparked against the piece of pyrite, the Adan had struck too far away from the leaves. His enthusiasm not at all dampened, the human merely tried again, this time striking closer to his arrangement of dry foliage and old sticks. But again, though the flint sparked, nothing happened. Several more times did he try, and each attempt more desperate than the previous.

He could not get the campfire going.

“Please burn,” he pled to the sodden limbs, thinking that if Legolas were awake, then perhaps the Silvan could convince the wood to flame. Estel was not a Wood-Elf, and so he struck with the flint again, aiming for a dryer spot upon the leaves he had gathered for kindling. Estel tried again, and again, his hits with the flint upon the pyrite block becoming more violent as his frustration grew.

“Legolas needs warmth,” he told the timber, despite feeling rather foolish to be talking to the dead leaves and limbs of a tree when he beseeched them, “he is cold. He is a Wood-Elf! Will you not help him? Please!”

Whether it was because of his words or his persistence in trying to light the fire, a thin tendril of smoke erupted from the leaves. Seeing this, Estel crouched down on his hands and knees with relieved impatience, his face mere inches away from the smoldering leaves to blow upon them and thus incite their embers into true flames. For a moment, it seemed that the waterlogged wood would have its way and drown out the flickering fire, but much to Estel’s delight, the flames took hold. Within a few moments, the wood hissed as the water within evaporated, letting off a brief puff of steam before the old limbs began to sizzle instead, their wet bark drying and their parched wood crackling.

“Legolas,” the Adan said aloud to his new friend, patting the Elf on the arm as he told the insentient being, “we have fire!”

Of course, the unconscious Prince said nothing. He did not nod, did not blink his closed eyes, nor did his fair brow wrinkle at the Adan’s words. In fact, the Wood-Elf gave no indication that he lived at all, other than the irregular rise and fall of his chest. Seeing the Prince as such made the Adan’s joy at starting the fire diminish until his excited smile finally faded into a morose frown. _I should move him closer to the fire to keep him warm._ Slipping his arms under the Prince’s arms, Estel dragged the Wood-Elf along the wet ground, stirring up slick mud as he finally shifted the ailing Elda into lying beside the warming flames, placing him upon the thick blanket of leaves there. Even though it was morning, the dark clouds overhead barred the sunlight from the Elf and Adan underneath the tree. He sat beside the Prince, watching the Elda for a moment in wonder of what he should do for the Silvan next. The stream nearby told him exactly what he should do, for the Elf had been looking for water for a good reason.

_A drink! I will wash his wounds of this poison, and then give Legolas the drink for which he has been searching._

He removed the Elf’s sling, the cloth now needed for matters of greater importance. _If I can clean his wounds properly, mayhap he will be helped by it,_ the Adan advised himself. _We have had no water to clean them yet._

Dipping the cloth in the cool stream, Estel walked back to the Elf. Beginning with the two long cuts the Orc had made into the Silvan’s flesh with the poisoned dagger, the Adan washed the many wounds upon the Elf methodically, making many trips to the stream and back to Legolas for fresh water. Before long, the strip of cloth he used had grown dark with dirt and blood.

Estel turned the Prince onto his side, careful not to let the Elf topple over onto his front, and then cleansed the gouges left by the Warg’s claws on Legolas’ shoulders and back. He told the Elf, “If you weren’t so cold already, Legolas, I would merely lay you in the creek to wash!”

When done, the Adan threw the cloth to the side, its dark stains and smell of blood offensive to the human. _Now to give him some water._ The human still held hope that he might flush out the toxins in the Elf’s body, and now that they had both fire and water, the human could possibly find some herbs to aid the Silvan even more. As he scooped water into his hands to take to the Prince, the Adan thought, _He will finally get the drink he has been craving. I only wish that he were awake to know it._

As the Wood-Elf’s mouth was already slack, Estel had only to pour the water within, which he did with little effort. Being as there was plenty of water, the human didn’t mind at all if the liquid missed the Elf’s mouth. Instead, when some of the creek water splashed onto Legolas’ face, Estel only hurried back to the brook for another handful. Upon his return to the Silvan’s side, however, the young human dropped the water in his hands, forgetting his purpose of getting the Elf a drink, when he heard the odd, gurgling sounds coming from the Prince.

 _He is not swallowing it,_ the Adan surmised with horror, falling to his knees with a grunt to stoop beside his companion. _He is choking._

Quickly, the human propped the Elda onto his side, letting Legolas’ head fall forwards and the water run from his mouth, and when he was certain that no more water was trapped in the Elf’s throat, he laid the Prince back down upon the ground. Unlike earlier, when the Adan had given the Elf his tonic of roots, leaves, and currant berries, the Prince now did not ingest, for now, his sleep was deeper, and his body no longer responded by instinct. Indeed, from the Wood-Elf there still came peculiar sounds – the water he had given the Prince had not been swallowed, but inhaled. Legolas’ body, which was too poisoned, too overcome in fighting the toxin damaging it, could not even cough to remove the liquid from his lungs. With a soft cry of anguish, Estel sat back onto the soggy ground. _He cannot even swallow!_ the desolate Adan despaired. _What good will water do him now, if he cannot even drink?_

Indeed, Legolas was only getting worse. The Adan had no more cleverness left to aid the Prince, for he could find nothing around them that might be of use, and the few tools he had used before – the Orc sword and belt buckle from the Orc quiver, the herbs and berries – all these things were gone, left behind in his juvenile eagerness to leave the mountainside once he had found the Elf awake.

There was nothing he could do. The Elf would die, and he would die because of Estel.

The young human had hoped that when he found the wandering Elf, that he could merely steer the Prince back down the mountainside. When he had seen that Legolas had found water, Estel had hoped that the Silvan could drink to flush the toxins from his body. Now, however, it seemed that the Adan was no closer to home than before, and despite what pains he had taken to help the immortal, there was nothing he could do for him now, not if Legolas was too paralyzed by poison even to swallow water or a tincture that the human could have made him. Despair at the hopelessness of their situation overwhelmed the boy, and he began to cry.

“I will not let you die, Legolas,” he proclaimed, patting the Elf’s arm once more seemingly to reassure the unconscious Prince, though it was Estel who was comforted by this. “If we are not found, then I will find a way for us off this mountain and to Imladris!”

Saying this only made the frightened child cry harder, and he sobbed harshly, before pulling his legs up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them to bury his face against his knees. _It is my fault. This is my fault._ Balling his fist up, Estel struck his thigh with it, demanding of himself aloud, “Do not do this! Do not cry! It does not help Legolas!”

 _I still have fire to warm him, and water to wash his wounds._ He forced himself into movement, crawling first to his hands and knees, and then pushing himself into standing by the trunk of the nearby tree. _There is something here that could help us, and even if there is not, I will not sit by waiting for Legolas to die!_

Estel roamed the weeds and grasses nearby. He was drenched with rain, shivering from the cold, his belly rumbling with hunger and pain, but he did not stop searching for something that would aid the Elf. Estel was not willing to admit defeat just yet.

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They stood at an impasse, arguing between themselves to decide which way to turn. The tracks they had been following were no longer clear. Before this point, both sets of footprints had headed down the foothills and towards the west – not towards Imladris proper, but at least away from the dangerous mountains. However, where the twins stood now, bickering about which set of footprints to follow, was a mishmash of indentations upon the ground that led the Noldor to two different conclusions.

“Estel could have walked on without the Wood-Elf, Elladan. We do not know.” Bending down to one knee to inspect the tracks again, the younger twin groaned as his tired muscles protested. “Estel’s tracks lead west,” Elrohir argued, pointing towards where their adopted brother’s footprints led down the hillside and seemingly back up to where the twins stood now. “But they return to this spot, as well, Elladan. Why would he walk down the mountainside only to walk up it again?”

They did not argue to decide who was right – being right only meant that they would find Estel and the Wood-Elf, and both brothers wanted this more than they wished to win their argument.

“Estel’s tracks go in this direction, as well, muindor,” the elder twin seethed and pointed off to the south, across the mountainside rather than down it. His annoyance to be arguing, rather than seeking the human and their fellow Elf, made Elladan’s temper flare. “Maybe they are lost once more. Whatever has happened, I think that Estel has gone this way.”

 _It seems unlikely that the Wood-Elf would be lost,_ Elrohir thought but did not say. _This is a forest. The Wood-Elf needs only to ask the trees which way to turn._

With his fingers, the slightly younger Elf traced the indentation in the ground. This track was freshly made. They were not only catching up to the human and his companion, but it seemed that their own speed was surpassing the two injured beings’ pace. That the sky had opened into dark clouds of storms did not help, for the rains were softening the ground, and thus their evidence of where the two travelers had gone.

_If we do not choose the right direction to take, then we may miss them altogether, or we may be too late to help them._

Casting aside this gloomy thought, Elrohir rubbed at his head with one hand, the ache residing there growing with each more moment he spent worried for the Adan. “You are probably right, Elladan. They are heading south rather than west, but what if you are wrong?” he asked his twin, standing to face his identical image. “Estel’s path has not been clear the whole of his time in the forest. We cannot trust to logic to guide us to make the right decision, because our dear Estel has used little rationality thus far.” The younger twin crossed his arms over his chest and stood from where he knelt. “I would not leave any stone unturned to find Estel!”

With a sigh, Elladan’s anger dissipated into understanding, and he suggested to his twin, “Why do we not split up? Even if the Wood-Elf and our wayward brother are not together, they will both need our help still.”

Dubiously, the younger Noldor nodded, not at all convinced of his twin’s suggestion, although he acquiesced to it nonetheless. “Fine, Elladan. I will walk west down the mountain and you walk south across it. If you do not find either Estel or the Wood-Elf, then backtrack until you find me!”

Elladan almost took off through the trees to do as they had agreed, but he then stopped, turning to add, “Wait, Elrohir. If they have split, then what will we do? Will we meet again here?”

The younger twin looked to the lightening sky, the sun’s glow, hidden behind the clouds, made the stormy sky the same shade as plums smashed underfoot. Elrohir pondered on his brother’s question for a moment, saying, “If you find them, stay where you are, if it is safe. If I find them, I will do the same. If you find only one of them, stay where you are, and I will find you, bringing the other with me.”

With a quick nod, Elladan strode south, following the two sets of footprints leading across the mountains, while Elrohir turned his attention to the tracks leading due west. He followed the trail hastily, the more time he spent walking the less he felt that this path would lead him to the Adan or Wood-Elf, but he continued. Once out of sight of his twin, Elrohir began to run down the mountainside rather than walk. He knew that his brother was just as urgent to find Estel and the Wood-Elf as he was, but the younger Noldo’s haste was not merely for worry for his lost brother but also for Elladan. If the elder twin found the Adan and Silvan, Elrohir’s help would be needed, and his protection of them, as well. 


	20. Chapter 20

_I_ _can find a way to help him._

These words had become his mantra. As Estel searched his surroundings for some herb, food, or even the slightest glimmer of hope that he could aid the Prince, the human fought the urge to return to the Elf, to sit on the bank of the small stream and cry.

_I cannot merely let him die._

Estel looked back to where the Wood-Elf lay by the fire, ascertaining that the Prince was still there. Even though he knew that Legolas was incapacitated and thus not able to wonder off, Estel still feared to lose the Elda again. Without help and with time, he would lose the Silvan anyway, however, but to a much more insidious cause than Legolas wandering off from him. Turning back to the bushes, Estel pushed between their branches, scouting the underlying soil for whatever might assist them. Amidst some dark green foliage stood a cluster of bright red, wild strawberries. If the Elda could swallow, the berries might prove some use, but as it were, the fruit was inadequate to suit their needs.

 _I can find nothing for him. I could give him nothing, even should I find something to give him!_ The human sobbed in despair, but then crawled further under the foliage to reach the wild strawberries he had seen there.

_We will both die._

Plucking the berries from their leaves, Estel gathered all that he could. When both his hands were full of the sweet fruit, the human sat back on his heels to eat it. For once in the many days he had been lost, his stomach was not growling, and hunger was furthest from his mind. Estel ate some of the strawberries anyway, for he knew that he needed the nourishment.

 _I should save some for Legolas, just in case he wakes,_ the Adan told himself. He backed out of the bushes carefully, and once free, glanced over at the Wood-Elf to assure himself that Legolas was still there. He ceased breathing to remain quiet as he stared in horror at the spectacle across the way.

 _Who is this?_ the human worried.

With the hood of his cloak over his head and his back turned to the Adan, an unknown being stood next to the Wood-Elf by the fire, peering down over Legolas. The dark cloak the stranger wore shifted, and behind it appeared the shine of a blade, which hung limp from the stranger’s hand. He should have known that blade, for he had seen few like it; as well, he should have known the fine, dark wool cloak, or recognized the familiar stature of the person hovering over Legolas. But all the Adan knew was fear.

He twisted his body until he could look around the tree next to him, so that he could watch the stranger without being seen himself, should the stranger look his way. The wild strawberries he held in his hands were forgotten – they squelched out between his fingers and onto the trunk to which he held tightly, falling to the forest floor with a sound similar to that of the crashing rain. Estel did not notice, nor did he notice that he had not yet begun breathing again. His better sense was submerged under the whelming terror of being caught once more, of watching the Elf be tortured, or being tortured himself.

 _This stranger will kill us._ The human inhaled sharply, his lungs pulling in the air they required, but even still, he sought to make no noise and so covered his mouth with his strawberry smirched hand. _I have no weapons to defend Legolas or myself._

Again, Estel cursed himself for leaving the Orc blade and bow behind at their last campsite. He searched the forest floor around him with his eyes, and seeing nothing but small limbs and stones, he gingerly picked up the largest one closest to him, and then another one of slighter size, all the while watching the stranger’s actions, and waiting for the interloper to harm the insentient Wood-Elf. Flight did not cross Estel’s mind at all: he had known the Wood-Elf for only a few days, but in those days, the Silvan had taught the Adan more of simple honor and straightforward friendship than had any of the stories or fables that the twins or Lord Elrond had ever told Estel.

Estel was not leaving the forest without Legolas.

Still, he could not move. Vague memories assailed him of times long ago, of events that he could not truly remember. Screams of pain and panic, the rank tang of blood and the darker smell of death, the stench of guards whose innards had been laid open to the morning sun by Orc blades, the screech of dying horses, and the innate fear he had felt then, and felt now, rushed over him in a wave of all consuming terror. He stood there, watching the stranger as he bent over the prone Prince.

_I cannot let him hurt Legolas._

His feet did not move him forwards, his arms were stiff and uncompromising when he tried to convince himself to attack the unknown being, and his mind recoiled from entering combat when he knew that he had neither the training nor the strength to take down another in battle.

_Will you just stand here while he hurts Legolas, or kills him?_

All this cogitation took only moments, though time seemed to slow for the Adan. The newcomer had his sword drawn as he knelt beside the Prince. Although the stranger did not yet show signs of wishing to harm Legolas, the fear Estel felt was enough evidence that the being would want to harass them. Estel could not trust this new person. He could not be a captive again.

The Adan still could not move.

Indeed, when watching the stranger reach to his side, Estel saw not the satchel for which the being had reached, but only the shine of his blade as it moved with the stranger’s hand. He knew that he must act or the Silvan would be killed.

It was the memory of his mother that finally broke his fear-born paralysis. The Lady Gilraen had not been too frightened to join the battle that day long ago when Orcs had attacked her family and her guards – she had taken up arms to protect her son from danger. His mother was no warrior, not like the stories Estel had heard of his father’s great deeds, but the Lady Gilraen had a warrior’s valor nonetheless, and it was from this that Estel drew his own courage.

 _We will not be captured again,_ the human told himself. _It is my fault that Legolas lies dying, unable to fend for himself. I will protect him,_ the Adan swore, advancing as softly as he could towards the campfire. Hefting the thinner limb in his hand, the human advised himself, _I will distract him. This one I will throw, and when this intruder is diverted by it, I will attack him._

Hesitant no longer, Estel took the small limb in hand and threw the branch towards the stranger’s side. The moment the interloper turned to the ruckus, the human ran forward, his second, larger branch brandished to do what he could to keep the Silvan and himself from further harm.

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Just like his twin, who was now trailing behind him though Elladan did not know this, the smell of smoke had brought the Noldo to the campsite, and it was by the light the bright fire emanated that he had viewed the Elf lying upon the ground. As the rain had poured down and seeped into Elladan’s already drenched clothing, he had watched the Silvan for a moment, for he was unsure how to aid him, or whether he could wait until he found Estel before beginning treatment of the Silvan. When he had finally begun to kneel to check the Wood-Elf’s pulse, a crash had erupted to his side.

The sounds of something falling into the bushes garnered the Noldo’s attention, and he started toward the ruckus, thinking it to be Estel. He held his sword out defensively, just in case he was wrong, however.

 _Let this be Estel,_ the Noldo prayed, for the sight of the ailing Wood-Elf frightened Elladan. His human brother could be in the same horrid condition as the Silvan, and the Noldo intended to find Estel without delay.

The Elven warrior heard the crashing footsteps of someone running and turned, his sword still outthrust, to ward off the unexpected assailant. Upon turning, however, Elladan had only the time to note the small stature of his attacker before the swing of the newcomer hit him in his sword arm. Although he did not drop his weapon, he could not recoup his own swing before the assailant struck him again, this time in the Noldo’s side. Yet, Elladan merely stood, accepting the more bothersome than painful blows with bewilderment, for he could now see clearly that his bare-chested, grimy aggressor was none other than the human for whom he searched.

_Thank Ilúvatar. It is Estel!_

Another blow landed against Elladan’s thigh, for the human was swinging wildly, his face bunched into a determined frown, but his eyes vacant and violent. Understanding that the human did not realize it was his brother who stood before him, Elladan grabbed the limb easily as it swung through the air towards him, and then pulled it from the child’s hands to disarm the human, tossing it to the side out of the Adan’s reach.

Estel cried out his surprise, but then fumbled backwards to the Silvan, screaming, “Leave us be!”

Elladan stepped forward, catching the child by his riotously flailing limbs. “Estel,” he beseeched the human, holding tight to the Adan’s arms in an effort to keep himself out of harm’s way, but more importantly, to keep the human from being hurt in the process. “Estel, it is Elladan, muindor. Please.”

The human still fought his brother’s hold of him. While still young, and not yet having grown into his gangly body, the Adan was sturdy and his fear made him stronger. “Leave us alone!” the child shrieked.

Finally, Elladan fell to his knees to the ground, taking the struggling Adan with him. Twisting his arms around the human’s to place the unwilling child into his embrace, the Noldo begged softly for the young one to listen, saying, “Be calm, Estel, please. It is Elladan.”

The human continued to thrash about, to evade the Elf’s hold. Estel begged in turn, “No, let me go.”

Thinking perhaps that the Adan had recognized him after all, and that perhaps the human merely did not wish his adopted Elven brother to be near or that perhaps even that he was hurting the Adan, Elladan let the child go reluctantly. Immediately, the human crawled away, moving to the Wood-Elf.

“Estel.”

Estel shifted on the ground, rising from his knees to crouch protectively in front of the Silvan Elf, but turned to face Elladan. The child’s wide, feral, silver eyes were softened by the tears collected there. His lower lip trembled as he stared at Elladan.

When the Elf tried to move closer to the Adan, Estel scrambled backwards, kicking himself away from Elladan, who stopped his advance at the child’s action. The Noldo felt tears spring to his own eyes to see the half-clothed, bruised, and dirty adolescent in such a state. Never had Elladan seen Estel so frightened. When younger, long before the human had distanced himself from the twins and their Ada, Estel had been plagued by nightmares that upon waking from he had once come to Elladan, Elrohir, and their father by whom to be comforted. If Elladan had not known better, he would say that Estel was caught in one even now, for the Adan seemed to be staring through Elladan, in fear of something that did not exist with them in the crude campsite.

“Muindor,” the Noldo began, intending to soothe the child, but his words were cut off by a soft cry from the human.

Estel finally seemed to recognize his foster brother – the human’s eyes focused, his body stopped quaking, and his mouth shaped to form words, instead of merely shaking with fright. The Adan moved again, his feet kicking against the wet blanket of leaves covering the ground: instead of scrambling away, however, Estel scrambled forward, his arms out, reaching for Elladan, who gladly stepped forward upon his knees to embrace the human. Estel hit the Noldo’s body full force, his shoulder hammering into Elladan’s chest as the human pushed himself as far into the Elf’s embrace as he could get.

Estel pressed his face into the Noldo’s drenched cloak, his hands seizing and releasing the cloth to obtain a better grip, to keep Elladan with him so that he would no longer be alone.

“Quiet, little one,” the soothing elder told him as he pulled away from the human. Swiftly removing his sodden cloak, Elladan wrapped the Adan inside it so that he would at least be covered from the rain, and then enfolded Estel within his arms again, rocking Estel for a moment as he consoled him, saying, “You are safe, muindor. You are found, but are you well, Estel? Are you hurt?”

The human shook his head against the Noldo’s chest, saying tearfully, “I am fine.”

For a moment, Estel was content to be held by his elder brother, his fearful crying tapering off into sniffles, until the Adan pushed himself out of Elladan’s arms. He crawled closer to the young Elda, leaving his brother’s embrace to worry over the Wood-Elf.

“Can you help him?” the human asked. “He is poisoned. The Orc blade,” the child rambled, his eyes wild once more as he looked between his new friend and the Noldor warrior. “He tried to trick them. But he was poisoned before we ever left.”

Elladan could not understand what the Adan tried to tell him, but it mattered little at the moment. He assured the human child, “I will try, Estel. Elrohir will find us soon, and we will take you both home to Ada.”

At the mention of home, of his foster father, Estel began to weep once more, until his body shuddered with each noisy exhale of his tired, trodden, and exhausted body. Instead of speaking more soothing words, Elladan merely held the child. What torment the human had undergone, what he had seen and through what he had lived – grown men, even grown Elves would be overcome with fear, and so Elladan was not surprised that Estel would be enduring the same.

The ailing Wood-Elf lying across the way beckoned to Elladan with his lifeless and motionless body, and from the tainted blood that Elrohir had found earlier, the elder twin knew that their time to ensure the Silvan’s survival was limited. However, Elladan could not find it within himself to rebuff the clinging, frightened, human child. For a long time, longer than he should have allowed, he held Estel, taking his own comfort that the Adan was truly alive, and that he would be well, now that he was found.

Elrohir’s footsteps were abnormally audible because he ran headlong towards them – Elladan could feel his brother’s approach prior to hearing his footfalls, but knew from their sound that the younger twin was rushed. That the prints Elrohir had been following had led nowhere was clear, for Elrohir had followed them back up the hillside and had now found his twin, who had already found the human anyway. Breaking through the thicket, Elrohir paused only a moment to stare at his twin and younger sibling, before he fell to his knees before them to yank Estel from Elladan’s arms and into his own. Elladan allowed this, for he could feel his twin’s elation to find the Adan. Estel allowed this, as well, and curled into the protective presence of the younger twin as much as he had the elder.

 _I should see to the Wood-Elf._ Elladan left his brothers, walking upon his knees the short distance to the Silvan. Just from sight alone, the Noldo could tell that the fair Wood-Elf had been tormented by the Orcs.

“Will he live?” the human asked as he shifted away from Elrohir to watch what Elladan now did for his companion.

He did not wish to frighten the youth, but most beings, even the Elves, who were hardier than some of Eru’s other creations, would have already succumbed to the poison that now sapped the Silvan’s light from him. _How he has managed to survive this long, I do not know._

“He may, Estel. We will do all that we can for him,” Elladan told the child, who was appeased by this.

“What is this, Estel?” the younger twin asked their human brother, and Elladan twisted his neck to see his twin turning over the child’s hands, which were sticky with some red substance.

Estel looked sheepishly at the Wood-Elf, and then back to Elrohir. “Wild strawberries. I found them while I was looking for more herbs.”

Appearing both surprised and worried, Elrohir continued his questioning, “More herbs? You have given the Wood-Elf something already, haven’t you, Estel? What have you given him?”

“Nothing recently. He cannot drink the water. I thought to make him something, but…” For a moment, the Adan appeared more panicked than before. He glanced from twin to twin before looking back down to the Wood-Elf. “I did not know what to do for him. I tried, but I could not remember…” The child broke into a sob, his thin, bruised frame shaking with the force of his dolor. “Earlier I gave him currants,” Estel said between great inhales of breath as he tried to calm himself. “And burdock root. Dandelion leaves.”

Elladan shook his head at Elrohir, remembering his brother’s conclusion that Estel had made medicines, an induction reached earlier from the evidence they had found hours ago of the burdock, dandelions and such with the Orc’s sword and Estel’s tunic under the bushes. Despite this, Elladan was still in awe that the human had been so resourceful. _Estel might not have known how to save this Elf, but he has kept him alive._

Elladan said this aloud, telling the Adan, “You have done well, Estel.”

The child’s sniffling stopped. His contused forehead furrowing into a frown, the troubled child asked, “I did not hurt him?”

His twin brother brought the young one closer to him, leaving Elladan to care for the Silvan alone, not that Elladan needed any help in what he did, for there was little they could accomplish here in the woods, without their father’s wisdom or the medicines they would need to save the Wood-Elf.

“No, Estel, you did not hurt him,” Elrohir told the human. He pulled the Adan into sitting beside him. “You did not heal him, little one, but you have helped his body fight the poison, nonetheless. He would not have lived for even this long had you not tried to cure him.”

Usually, the Adan balked at being called little and was quick to pick up when he was being derided or patronized. It did not seem to bother the human now, for he accepted Elrohir’s words and even appeared momentarily pleased by them – at least until his gaze lit upon the dying Wood-Elf once more.

“Now come,” Elrohir implored, removing the cloak that Elladan had only a few moments before wrapped around the young one, “let me see that you are well, Estel.”

While trying to care for the Silvan, Elladan watched his twin care for the human. The Adan child carried a bruise that ran from his hip, along his side, and ended just under his arm. A gash on Estel’s forehead, though bloody and appearing painful, did not threaten the human’s life. The bruised and gory marks around Estel’s wrists, likely from the rope that had been tied around them, were already scabbed. Undoubtedly, the only injury that frightened Elladan was the wound upon the human’s belly, a tear in the skin too wide to close on its own, but not so extensive that it would not heal.

 _I did not even notice this wound before. His skin is so cold it is nearly as blue as the cloth he’d wrapped around his middle for bandaging._ The Noldo remembered that blue cloth, for it was the same as that which they had found in the Orc cave, the same that belonged to the Silvan that Elladan now tried to keep alive.

Unlike the Wood-Elf’s skin, which was blotched and falsely rubicund with toxin, the Adan’s flesh at least showed no signs of the same poison, and for this, Elladan released a long pent up sigh of relief. _Estel will be well._ The Noldo shook his head down at the unknown Wood-Elf lying on the ground before him. _I cannot say the same for this one. He has paid a hard levy in helping our little brother._

“We found your campsite, Estel,” the younger twin told the human. Elladan listened while rummaging through his satchel for more bandaging, as Elrohir continued in an attempt to prompt the child into telling them what had happened, “we saw the Wargs there. And we followed you to the cave, little one. We found the dead Orcs, and the slain Warg.”

The human’s comfort that his twin brothers had found him evaporated in an instant. The very mention of Orcs and Wargs dissipated his calm. Estel seemed on edge, his body tensing and his eyes growing wide once more.

“They are dead, muindor. You are safe.” Elladan gave his twin a brief shake of his head, which Elrohir understood at once – it was too soon for the Adan to speak of his ordeal, for the human was not yet convinced that his torment had ended.

The Adan answered his brothers’ curiosity, however, by telling them, “Legolas found me in the woods. He was taking me home when we were attacked by the Orcs.”

Elladan’s head rose sharply, meeting his twin’s similarly worried face over the downed form of the Elf and the weeping Adan who sat beside him. It was not the facts revealed that shocked him, for he and his twin had known this anyway. No, it was the name the Adan had used.

 _Legolas? A Wood-Elf named Legolas? What are the odds that this is not_ _King Thranduil’s son?_

It was Elrohir who asked the human, “Is that the name he gave you?”

Nodding, Estel wiped his face free of tears with his borrowed cloak, looking even younger than his thirteen years. “He helped me. He saved my life. We cannot let him die.”

The Adan had been brave, caring for the Prince and defending him when the need came, but the human was a child of few years, and with the twins there, he needed to be an adult no longer. Thus, Estel did not argue when Elrohir encouraged the Adan to lay on his cloak upon the sodden ground, comforting the human in a kind whisper, “Rest, muindor, if only for a while. We will care for Legolas, and when you awake, I promise that we will soon be on our way home.”

Exhausted, the child complied, and after a few more hiccups, soon fell into what might have been sleep, had not Estel’s eyes flown open at every slight noise, and had the soporose Estel not mumbled unintelligibly to the twins, to the Wood-Elf, and to himself.

Breaking the silence between them, Elrohir asked of his twin, “What do we do, Elladan? Estel can walk, but we cannot carry the Prince back to Imladris.”

He judged the Wood-Elf’s injuries. Much like the chafed skin of the Adan’s wrists, similar abrasions could be found around the Silvan’s wrists, but also his neck, making Elladan wonder, _It looks as if they tried to strangle him. How much torment did Estel and this Wood-Elf endure before they escaped?_

Elladan rejoindered by saying, “Ada will be most displeased to tell King Thranduil that one of his sons is injured! I wonder why he is here in Imladris.”

They had no answer for this, but Elrohir told his twin, mirroring Elladan’s thoughts from earlier, “I do not know, muindor, but we should be thankful that he was. This Wood-Elf has been aiding our brother, although he has paid dearly for it.”

While Estel slept fitfully, Elrohir and Elladan treated the Silvan’s wounds with what herbs and medicines they had, washing clean the poisoned flesh and applying ointments to the opened cuts themselves, since they could not give the Prince any tincture or tea while he slept. Everywhere on the Prince’s torso were bruises: more numerous than these contusions were the rents in the younger Elf’s skin, his pale flesh had not been cut deeply anywhere except a slash upon his chest, and another one on his shoulder blade, both of which seemed to be made by a sword. Claw marks scored the Silvan’s upper back and shoulders, which while painful and red from the poison, would heal as well, and the scars left would fade with time. These injuries, however, though not necessarily fatal in themselves, were detrimental to the Prince’s survival, as his battered body was already fighting the poison wreaking havoc on his system. _He will not last another day. If we do not get him to Ada soon, Estel’s new friendship will have been a short one._

Saying aloud to encourage himself more so than his twin, Elladan stated, “Handolin would have already reached Imladris and told father what we found. Ada will send aid to us, Elrohir.”

Elrohir pursed his lips and settled the human more fully against him, holding the restless young Adan’s head in his lap as if the human were a babe, which to the Elven brothers, the adolescent truly was. “Ada will likely ride out to aid us, himself.”

The twins sat there, sharing their relief with tacit looks and grimaces of concern. They had found their Estel. Physically, the Adan was well. Nevertheless, seeing the human shudder in his sleep, remembering events in his dreams that he should never have been forced to endure in his waking, the joyous but troubled Elladan worried, _Estel has pulled away from us these past years, but he was ecstatic to see us today._

It was no wonder that the scared child had been so happy to see the twins – Estel had been fatigued, both physically and mentally, and he was still a child, not the adult he had been forced to be.

“Estel attacked me when I came into the clearing, Elrohir. He was so frightened that he did not recognize me.” Looking down at the Adan, he told himself, _I hope that this fear will lessen with time. Ada will help him._ Casting his gaze to the dying Wood-Elf, he added, _Ada will help them both._

The younger twin digested this information, and then shook his head, as if hearing his twin’s thoughts as well as his words. He patted the shivering shoulder of the Adan lying on the ground close to him. “I hope that Ada comes soon, brother, for both their sakes.” 


	21. Chapter 21

The first thought that crossed Estel’s mind upon his waking was influenced from the first sight that met his eyes upon his opening them – the Wood-Elf lying nearby was just as pale, ill, and lifeless as last the Adan had seen him.

 _What time is it?_ the human asked himself, and then rolled to his back to see where the sun in the sky lay overhead.

His dreams had been troubled: he could not recall their content, but the Adan did not need to remember them to feel their remaining sway threatening his composure. They had been less fiction and more memory, less confabulation and more truth than had his nightmares ever been before. He did not wish to contemplate his reverie, however, and so decided to stay awake so that he would not need to dream again. A precarious serenity had settled over him. It was counterfeit, for panic lay under this salubrious veneer, but the mendacious calm of having Elrohir and Elladan near and caring for him reassured Estel as it would any child, and he reveled in this, instead of casting it away as he would normally have done. Truly, the Adan did not want to be an adult right now, since he was not required by circumstance to be one any longer.

Pushing himself with his hands into sitting, the Adan then gathered the hem of his borrowed cloak so that it was tight around him once again. Sitting by the fire next to the Wood-Elf were the twins. Elladan had been grinding something in the small wooden mortar he always carried with him, and Elrohir had been tearing leaves and dropping them into his twin’s bowl.

Ceasing their actions simultaneously, they stared at him with expectation, though what his foster brothers expected, Estel did not know. The sun was nearly not in the sky at all, but rather off in the distance, hidden by the trees, and barely illuminating his surroundings. It was early evening. He had been sleeping for hours, and while he must have required the rest he’d taken, Estel felt immediately guilty for not staying awake to aid the Silvan Prince.

"He is no better?" he asked them with a drowsy croak, seeking some assurance from them that the Wood-Elf would live.

Elladan moved closer to Estel to settle himself between Legolas and the Adan. "He is no worse, Estel."

Not satisfied with this answer, the human reached out to the Wood-Elf, feeling for himself the clammy, feverish skin of the Silvan’s contused forehead. "His fever is down," the Adan said aloud, watching the Prince’s chest as it moved in a steady pattern, "and he is breathing more regularly. What did you give him to make him better?" the curious child asked.

Looking in surprise to his twin, Elrohir told the human, "Yes, Estel, you are right. His fever is lessened, and his breathing grows deeper."

Instead of merely lying to the human by telling him that the Prince was well, or deflecting the child’s curiosity in favor of keeping his explanation simple, Elladan instructed Estel, "The Prince is still poisoned, muindor, but his body is fighting. The athelas dressings we have placed over his wounds have helped him to fight the Black toxin."

_Athelas. Of course. I have seen Lord Elrond use this weed on others in the healing wing._

Estel inspected the heated herb poultices that were pressed into the Wood-Elf’s wounds. To him, the pulpy masses were no different from what he had thrown away as waste after grinding his burdock roots and dandelion leaves for the Elf yesterday. The Adan paid close attention as he watched Elladan and Elrohir continue to make more of the substance and spread it over the Silvan’s body. He might need this information again someday, and unlike his usual lack of attention when the twins tried to teach him of healing, Estel realized now how lucky he was to have healers willing to train him. However, now he also understood how important these lessons truly were, for if he had paid closer attention to Lord Elrond’s teachings before, Estel could have aided the Prince much more than he had been able to do these past few days. He thought, _If I only I had remembered this, I could have found athelas in the forest and Legolas would be better even now!_

"Is there nothing else that we can do for him?" the young human asked the twins. He was overjoyed that the Silvan was recuperating – and yet, from the pained visages of the Noldor as they spread dressings over their fellow Elf’s wounds, they did not expect the best for Legolas. "Is there something that I can do to help?"

"There _is_ something you can do, muindor. You can eat. If Ada does not arrive by tomorrow morning, we will be forced to leave for Imladris, and you will need your strength to help take Legolas home with us." Elladan withdrew from his satchel a skin of water and a long segment of jerky, holding these out to Estel, who merely looked at them without taking them.

The Adan watched as Elrohir knocked free the paste on the long gashes on Legolas’ side to replace it with fresh. These cuts had been made when the Orc had threatened to taste the Silvan. Just this memory alone caused the Adan’s stomach to rebel, and he looked down at the food in Elladan’s hands with disgust and still did not take it.

Placing the last of his gob of crushed kingsfoil onto the Silvan's wounds, Elrohir looked up from his task and begged the human child, "Please eat, Estel."

He could imagine little that he could do to aid the valiant and intelligent twins. Estel complained bitterly to them, thinking of how he had watched helplessly as the Orc had carved into the Prince’s torso, and how these two wounds had been the source of the Silvan’s impending demise, "I am no help to you as I have been no help to Legolas!"

"Brother," Elrohir soothed the human, wiping his hands clean of the paste thereon by brushing them against his trousers to tell Estel, "if we are forced to walk to Imladris, one of us will need to carry the Prince, and you will need to help guard us from danger. Even tonight, we may need you to help us protect the Prince and ourselves. Can you do this?"

Peering at one identical face and then turning his gaze to the other, Estel ruminated on the Noldo’s words, weighing whether the Elf was patronizing him to earn his compliance. Elrohir stood from the forest floor and walked to where his own satchel was lying on the ground. From it, the twin untied a weapon that Estel was happy to see – his short sword, which had been left at the campsite when Legolas and he had been captured, had apparently been saved by the twins when they had trailed the human and Silvan.

"Can you do this for us, brother?" the younger twin repeated, handing over the Adan’s short sword to him.

Nodding eagerly, for he could see that Elrohir and Elladan were not requesting this condescendingly, the human took his blade. He sat it on the ground beside him, holding its hilt with one hand. With the other, Estel finally took the water and food offered to him by Elladan, and though he still did not hunger, the human attempted to eat what he was given to keep the twin Noldor from worrying over him. He had caused them enough worry.

 _Besides,_ he rationalized to himself, _they are right. They will need me to help them down the mountainside, even if it is all I can do to help them, and Legolas._

Estel had been ecstatic to see the twin when Elladan had found him here by the brook, when in the past years he had wanted nothing more than but to avoid them, to refuse their care and attention. Even now, Estel found himself wishing that he had never run away, to save Legolas from this injury, but also so that he would not now be sitting here with the twins, the object of their unconditional love when he did not deserve it. He did not know why they called him brother now when he had been so distant to them these past few years and had caused them such heartache. Too caught up in his own problems, in a world where he always felt to be an outsider because he was a human amongst Elves, Estel had had not turned to them for help with this dilemma, because he had always seen them as a part of his problem. Looking from twin to twin now, and seeing no judgment, only worry, Estel knew that he had been wrong.

"I am sorry that I hit you, Elladan," he told the Noldo shamefacedly, placing a piece of the tough jerky in his mouth and chewing it slowly without meeting the twin’s gaze. "I did not realize that it was you. I did not want to be captive again."

He had spoken to try to relieve their worry, but Elrohir and Elladan frowned at each other at his words. "Do not worry over it, Estel," Elladan assured the human, placing his hand upon Estel’s shoulder. "I am not angry; I am proud of you, muindor! You did not run from danger, but stayed to protect yourself!"

"I thought you would kill Legolas," the young human told them by way of justification for his actions. "He is my friend: if not for Legolas, I would be dead."

Under the twins’ observant eyes, Estel ate his meal, though he wished that Legolas were awake to eat, as well, for he was sure that the Wood-Elf would be hungry. _Lord Elrond comes to fetch us,_ the human thought, feeling better now that Elladan had forgiven him. Although in his short years he had distanced himself from his Elven family, the Adan could not help but to feel joy that the Elf Lord would be arriving to aid the Prince and himself. However, Estel suddenly worried of the Imladrian leader, _He will be furious that I have run away from Rivendell, even if I am now safe._ Looking down at the Silvan lying on the ground, the salty jerky he ate tasted rancid to him upon thinking, _He will blame me for Legolas being hurt, and as well he should!_

"Estel?" The twin beside him, Elladan, spoke quietly, asking, "Are you well, brother?"

Estel could have told the twins what worried him, and they would have reassured him that their father would only be relieved to find his human son well – but Estel did not. Instead, he told them another of his worries, saying, "I fret for Legolas. It is my fault that he is hurt."

"He has lived this long, thanks to you, Estel." Watching over the Adan as Estel tore his jerky into smaller pieces, as if to ensure that the human would feed himself as he should, Elrohir added, "When Ada finds us, he will aid the Prince. Until then, there is nothing more that we can do for him. Do not worry – the Prince is strong."

He nodded in response and ate the last of his jerky. Estel had no more than swallowed when Elladan was beside him, having moved to stir the flames but now bringing back with him his mortar and a bowl of water from where he had left them beside the campfire.

"Come, Estel. Let me see to your stomach." The twin reached out to the Adan, and without thinking, Estel moved away to avoid him.

Hurt and confusion flickered across Elladan’s face, his dark brows knitting together in a deep frown at the young Adan’s actions.

"It is only a dagger wound," the Adan told his brothers quickly, once more trying to keep them from worrying over him, but also trying to hide his intuitive response of avoidance. He did not know why he had pulled away from Elladan: he did not fear the Noldo and yet had acted on instinct. "It will be fine."

They stared at him in response, their mouths slightly apart, and their eyes wide at hearing their human brother’s excuse. " _Only_ a dagger wound, Estel?" the elder twin said, his hurt forgotten. He looked to Elrohir as if to see that his twin had heard the same outrageous thing as he had heard.

The human shifted nervously on the ground. He may not have been alive as long as the two Noldor before him, but he had learnt much in his thirteen years, and one of the most important lessons was when to spot a lecture before it came. However, before he could avert the impending sermon from the twins, Elrohir responded to his identical half, telling Elladan, "This warrior cannot be stopped by a mere dagger! Our brother is a man now, not a child."

Estel waited for them to tease him, to show some sign that they were poking fun of his efforts to survive, but though the twins were exaggerating in their boasting, neither twin seemed to be doing it at Estel’s expense. Smiling his pleasure to be seen as a both a warrior and a man, though he knew he was neither, the Adan told the twins, "I have only acted as you have taught me."

"You should not have run away from home, muindor," the elder twin told him. Tossing a limb into the fire and sending up a shower of sparks as the wet wood hissed in reply, Elladan then clapped Estel gently on the back, saying, "But what troubles you have earned for your actions, you have overcome, whether by what you have learnt from us or not. We are proud of you."

"As will Ada be," Elrohir told him with a wink. "Although I think he may lock you in your room until your mother returns. The doors to your balcony will be nailed into their frames to keep you from climbing down the balustrade!"

Reminded of his mother’s absence from Imladris, the young Adan could only be glad that the Lady Gilraen had not been forced to endure the harrowing experience of Estel being lost in the forest, as had Lord Elrond. _She will surely find out,_ he told himself, but did not care. His mother would only shower him with affection and much like Elrond desire to keep Estel underfoot until he grew a beard.

The elder twin joked to Estel, "Ada will have you within his sight for months! You will not be able to bathe without him in the next room."

His mind working to provide another ridiculous means that the Elf Lord of Imladris might take to keep Estel in the valley and safe from harm, the younger twin trailed off, "Or Ada may…"

"Tie him to a pillar in the courtyard?" interrupted a sabulous, whispery voice from nearby.

"Yes, tie him to a pillar in the …" the Noldo began to agree, but trailed off again when realizing it was not his twin or the Adan who had suggested this solution to the Adan’s propensity to wander off.

Estel pushed away Elladan’s hands where they were tying clean bandaging back around his stomach. He scooted forward on his rear until he could see into the face of the Wood-Elf lying on the ground. At seeing the bleary-eyed, pained, but very much conscious visage of his woodland friend, Estel cried out, "Legolas, you are awake!"

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The mere moonlight, or what little of it that found its way between the thick, dark clouds overhead, was still too bright for the Silvan’s eyes, and so he shut them. Rain spattered from between the limbs above, hitting his febrile, flushed face intermittently, though he felt cold, rather than warm, as he knew that he must be.

"Stay awake, Legolas," the Adan ordered him, and the amused Wood-Elf opened his eyes to find that some of the haze had left his vision.

 _At least Estel has been found,_ the Prince told himself. _Perhaps they will take him home._ He should have been more worried to note that the human had encountered more strangers, but now that he could see clearly Estel’s wide smile, the Prince knew that the child was being cared for by whoever sat nearby. That they had woken him with their laughter and jokes of what their Ada might do to the human caused Legolas to suspect that he was in the presence of the Adan's Elven brothers, but it was not until one of them spoke that this suspicion was confirmed.

"He is _Prince_ Legolas," someone chastised gently in the distinct accent of the Noldor Elves of Imladris. Said immortal moved into the Silvan’s blurred view, reminding the Adan with a none too subtle hint that even with the Wood-Elf sick and prostrate on the ground before them, the human should still mind his manners in saying, "I am glad that you are awake, _your Highness_."

Estel, however, did not seem to notice this. He moved as close to the Prince as he could get without sitting atop him. Legolas could not focus his eyes quickly enough to track the human’s movements – he could only detect the distorted shape of the human’s face as it peered down at him.

"Legolas," the child said elatedly, evincing that he had heard not a whit of what the Noldo had told him by once more not using the Prince’s title, "this is my brother Elladan." At this, Estel pointed to the Elf beside him, and then, an identical, dark-haired Noldor Elf appeared by the first one, and Legolas looked between them, his weary mind slow to realize that the two Elves upon whom he gazed were indeed the twin sons of the Lord of Imladris. Pointing to the second Elf, Estel told the Silvan, "And this is my brother Elrohir. Do not worry, Legolas. Our Ada is coming to help you!"

He did not know why the two Noldor seemed so happy to hear the Adan call them his brothers, nor why they beamed at each other upon hearing the child call Lord Elrond his Ada, but Legolas did not try to understand. Thinking was too hard a task, and he was glad that the human’s brothers were here to care for the child. He had been of little help as of late. Indeed, Legolas was certain of neither where they were nor how they had come to be here, but could not manage to ask.

The animated, excited human was patting the Silvan’s shoulder in unintentionally harsh taps. The young man was obviously euphoric to see that Legolas was alert, and said as much to the twin Noldor, telling them as if they were not aware of this already, "He is awake!"

Estel took up a bladder holding water that sat at his feet, and uncorking it, slid his hand under Legolas’ neck and gently lifted the unresisting Elf’s head as he poured the last drops of the cool liquid between the Prince’s chapped, cracked, and eager lips. "Let us give him something! Surely, you have some herbs that will aid him, even if they will not cure him. He must be in pain and his fever…" the child bossed his elders.

Estel’s words broke the strange stupor under which the twins had been sitting, staring at Legolas in astonishment that the Silvan was conscious. One bustled to gather more water for the Wood-Elf, who found that though he remembered little of what had occurred since beginning his and Estel’s journey down the mountainside, he could recall clearly that his thirst had been immense. The other twin searched through his bag, tossing aside parchment envelopes that likely contained herbs to use upon the Silvan. The Wood-Elf could not tell twin from twin, nor could his lessening awareness force his lax mouth to offer thanks to the Elves trying to help him.

Legolas knew that he was severely poisoned, that his body, though trying to fight off the toxin within it, was shutting down from the overload of both poison and injury. From the sympathetic smiles of the two Noldor as they tried to tend him, Legolas understood that the Adan’s brothers knew this, as well. Should Lord Elrond not arrive soon, the Silvan’s immortal life would be cut unpleasantly short.

"Hannon le," he tried to tell the human child when after sating the Prince’s thirst, Estel laid the Silvan’s head back upon the makeshift pillow under it.

Despite Estel’s protest to the Silvan to remain awake, the Prince closed his eyes and fell back into a welcomed unconsciousness, his thirst slaked and his mind at ease: they had been found, and the innocent Adan would find his way home with or without the Wood-Elf. 


	22. Chapter 22

_L_ _et us hope that they had enough supplies to last until we reach them,_ the worried father contemplated of his twin progeny. Sitting atop his steed, Lord Elrond looked out across the tall grasses in the clearing of the forest, gauging the efforts of the warriors looking for tracks.

As far as speed was concerned, the rescuers had the advantage over those for whom they were searching. Not only were they mounted, while Estel, Elladan, Elrohir, and the Wood-Elf were not, but the band had not needed to follow the tracks that the Adan, the Prince, or the twins had made for the first leg of their journey. Instead, they had followed Handolin’s directions directly to the campsite where the twins and he had found the dead Warg bodies, where the warrior had split from his two Lords to take word to their father.

Elrond’s fear for the human, the Wood-Elf, and his twin sons had trebled at the sight of the campsite, where an obvious struggle had taken place. Straps to a quiver had they found, leather that had been coated in blood and been shredded, as if torn from its wearer’s body. That the Silvan Elf, most likely the youngest Prince of Mirkwood, had been injured during this struggle was unmistakable, for Estel had not carried his bow and arrows with him on this reckless journey of his. Thankfully, there had been no evidence at the campsite that Estel had been hurt, but this said nothing of what the Orcs had done to the Adan after leaving the campsite.

The warriors had searched the forest for signs of where the twins had followed the Orcs, Wood-Elf, and Adan, and had found plenty of deep marks on the ground, broken branches and disturbed foliage that had led Elrond and his warriors up the mountain and to a cave. The Elf Lord had been loath to survey the evidence within this hollow for himself, as the worried father had not wished to see his human child in death, nor any of his other children, for that matter.

Here, there had been signs of torment but no bodies that were not of Orc kind. Bloodied cloth and rope were strewn about, sticks littered the floor, iron rings driven into the ceiling and walls for the Orcs’ to tie their captives – these they had found, but still, no twins, no Wood-Elf, and no Estel. The stench of death in the cave had been almost unbearable, for the Orcs smelled terrible alive and only more grotesque as their malformed bodies decayed. Indeed, the Elf Lord had been pleased to see the Orcs dead, and had breathed in deeply the reek of their death, enjoying the redolence of their demise, as he knew that the foul beings had been the one to steal, and likely torment, his youngest son.

He had forced himself to search the cave for evidence of what had been done to his children and the Prince. When the twins had found their mother tormented and dying, with Elrond arriving shortly thereafter, nothing could have prepared the Elven Lord for the sight of his beloved Celebrian, her body and faer in tatters. Lessons learnt from this horrifying experience, lessons that Elrond never thought he would need to recall for another of his family, had taught the half-Elf that he would need to know just what had happened to Estel, in as much detail as possible. Such information was beneficial both to aiding Elrond in tending physical wounds, once they found them – that is, if they found them _alive –_ but also in preparing himself for what mental state in which the Adan would be. If the young human had been tortured as had Elrond’s loving wife, Elrond would at least know how best to care for Estel.

Valinor would heal Celebrian, but there was no such option for young Adan children. Elrond would be the one to heal the human, if Estel were not beyond his help.

The cave itself had showed no signs of death, save for that of the Orcs within and the Warg without, which only confirmed his hopeful suspicions that the Adan and his friend had been found by the twins somewhere outside the cave. In the end, however, Glorfindel had concluded that it was the Silvan and Adan who had freed themselves from their captors, not the twins, for he had found a dagger, covered in Estel’s blood, which had also been used to slay an Orc. Similarly, from the crude and broad cuts made to kill the Orcs, they had been slain with their own broadswords, not by the twins’ Elven blades. It was good news to Elrond: if the human and Elf had been well enough to fight their captors, then they were well enough to evince that they had not been injured mortally during their torment.

Thus, kenning from the cave’s contents that his human son had been tied, beaten, and perhaps stabbed, Elrond had pushed away his fears and memories, and had only rushed his warriors onward, back down the mountainside. As they had followed the prints down the rapidly saturating slope, Glorfindel had pointed out to his liege the spots and marks of blood left upon the ground, the roots, and bark of trees. What this meant to Elrond, as had Elladan and Elrohir guessed when seeing this many hours earlier, was that one of the two beings was hurt severely. Moreover, like his twin sons, Elrond could tell by the smell of this blood that it was Elven, and that these copious puddles of claret were tainted with poison.

During their journey down the mountainside, the searchers had also found peculiar evidence of Estel and Legolas’ presence. The latch of a buckle, two stones covered in the mash of herbs and smelling of berries, and below a bush, where it appeared that something had been pulled into the shade underneath, was a stained shirt, covered in stripes of blood and besmirched with more berries. An Orc sword, bow, and quiver they had found, which substantiated Glorfindel’s surmise that the Prince and Estel had used the Orc weapons against their captors, and were thus well enough to flee.

Briefly, Elrond had contemplated whether these new findings meant that the twins had encountered their human brother, for it appeared that someone had made medicines from burdock and berries, and perhaps dandelion leaves. Yet, the Elf Lord knew that his twin sons would have remained in this shelter, waiting for the help for which they had sent by Handolin. Besides this, the medicines made were rudimentary, not at all reminiscent of the sophisticated tinctures that both twins were supplied with, nor that of which they were capable of making.

And now, sitting on his mount, with his hands twisted tightly into the robe at his knees, Elrond released the cloth, gripped it again, and then smoothed it flat, all the while unaware of his own restless fidgeting. Whether any noticed their liege’s discomfort and anxiety, none gave any sign, nor would they have, since all felt the same alarm as their Lord. Everyone in their small party of Elven warriors wished to find the three sons of their liege alive, well, and most of all – soon.

_We must be coming close to them. We are traveling much faster than they are, and since the Wood-Elf is hurt, Estel would be moving very slowly with him, if at all. If nothing else, the twins have surely found Estel already._

The contaminate in the Prince’s blood was clearly that of a Black toxin, one that Elrond knew well, for it had claimed many lives when not treated quickly. For some, even the treatment did not work, if not administered shortly after becoming poisoned. He had seen cases of this poisoning often amongst the patients he tended in the Last Homely House.

 _If the Prince has been poisoned since leaving the cave, then he should not be able to walk. Elrohir and Elladan would have caught up to them by now,_ he told himself again, his hands working of their own accord to release his tension by fisting themselves in his robe’s length once more.

It had taken Estel a week or more to reach this destination in his rambling through the forest and subsequent captivity, but it had taken Elrond and the willing warriors who accompanied him a ride from dawn until midnight, for they had neither stopped nor tarried on their way save to maintain their awareness of the tracks they followed.

A new dilemma stalled them this late night, and Elrond could not maintain his patience for much longer. There had been a split in the trail just a few moments before. Elrond had not vacillated in instructing his warriors to choose the path southwards. One set of tracks showed only one of his twin son’s footsteps, while the other set showed that both twins had trailed in that direction. Having no doubt that his sons would not part ways for long, Elrond believed that he would find all of his sons in the direction where both of his identical progeny had gone.

Nevertheless, fate slowed them after this critical decision had been made. The tall grasses where the tracks had led, where the warriors now searched, had been filled with deer upon their approach. Although the deer had fled, the partings they had made in the grass, the deep, fresh indentations the animals had left on the ground, confused the already convoluted path that the Elves had been following.

Additionally, what confounded their search even further now could be helped no more than the deer that had muddled the path – it rained. The water had seeped into the ground, softening the footprints that had been made earlier, when the soil had been dryer. None of these warriors were as accomplished at following the prints made by animals or other beings as were his twin sons, but Glorfindel looked, also, and Elrond knew that with his commander searching, they would soon find the path that Elladan, Elrohir, Estel, and Legolas had taken. It would only be a matter of time before they were riding again, seeking his Estel. However, time was a commodity on which the Elf Lord felt he was terribly short, especially since the Prince of Mirkwood was here in the forest somewhere, dying of poison, and his human son was in a condition unknown.

They were backtracking over areas that Elrond feared might be places where the twins, human, and Prince could be found, places that they had passed on their way to the cave. Other than intervention by Ilúvatar himself, they would not have guessed that the ones for whom they searched would be found in the places they had passed, but realizing this made it no easier for Elrond.

He chastised himself, _If only we had known they were close by while coming up the mountain. We have wasted time._

Elrond did not anticipate sending word to King Thranduil that his child was injured, much less trying to tell his longtime friend that his youngest son was dead.

Glorfindel stood from where he knelt, his gaze finding Elrond’s, and giving his liege a short smile, the commander waved them on without speaking. At once, Elrond spurred his horse into the front of the line of warriors, following only behind Glorfindel as the fair Elf searched the ground, his horse not needing a tether to keep close by to the Balrog-slayer.

The trail had been found once more.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 _At least he awakes long enough to drink,_ the young Adan thought with a sigh. At this point, the most they could do for Legolas was to keep him comfortable until help arrived – if help arrived at all. Surprisingly, the Prince was faring better than he had been, and this change was all because of the twins’ diligent care.

The flush that had covered Legolas’ pale skin had lessened. A thick pus had begun to seep from the Silvan’s side, just where the Elf had been poisoned, which the twins had told the human meant for Legolas that his body was trying to expel the toxin. The irregularity of the Elf’s breathing had evened out even further over the course of the night and his consciousness came more often and with greater ease than at first, although the Wood-Elf still would only waken a few moments at a time.

They let him sleep. There was little point in the Prince remaining awake for any longer than it took to give him water.

The twins had used all their herbs, their athelas, the lesser herbs that were not as effective as the kingsfoil, and had done all that they could for Legolas. If the Elf were now to survive, it would only happen because their Ada found them, and then only if they made haste thereafter to Imladris where they could care for the Prince properly.

 _I do not want to move him,_ Estel contemplated while watching the Wood-Elf’s closed eyes flicker in his sleep. _Let us hope that he stays unconscious while we carry him, for at least then he would feel no pain._ The woodland Elda had not complained, but it was clear nonetheless that Legolas suffered during his brief moments of awareness.

In the morning, Elladan had promised, they would make their way home. Truly, Estel understood that they would never carry Legolas alive into the valley – the Prince would never last that long. Their intent was to get as close to the searchers as they could, wherever those Elves might be, in the hopes that the aid for which the twins had sent would be able to take Legolas to Imladris on horseback, which would take much less time than the Noldor twins carrying the Prince.

 _If we could go now, we could have Legolas on his way to the valley,_ the human contemplated, though he realized that this was not the best of ideas. Nighttime was a dangerous time for travel, especially with a sick Wood-Elf who would need to be carried by one twin, leaving only the other twin and the injured Estel for protection. Thus, Estel sat close to Legolas, by the fire, and hoped with all his being that his Ada would soon arrive. As much as he wished that they could take Legolas now, to move, to do something that would aid the valiant Silvan, nothing could be done.

Across the way, Elladan was mixing water with some juice he had smashed from wild strawberries, fruit that Estel had collected only moments earlier for this purpose. Afraid to give the Wood-Elf anything more substantial than this, the Noldo had taken to feeding the Prince this watered down fluid for its scant nutrition, but also because when first Elladan had fed Legolas this sweet water, the younger Elf had asked for more. The strawberry juice would do little to nothing to aid the Silvan; however, the twins wished to keep the Prince content and comfortable in whatever way they could, and if indulging Legolas’ desire for strawberries gave the Wood-Elf any joy, they would continue to do so until they could find no more fruit.

Elrohir, on the other hand, was keeping watch over his brothers and the Prince. He sat with his back to the trunk of the great tree under whose boughs they all sat, his hand on the hilt of his sword, and his face tense with the task of listening to the great forest around them. The moon was slight and shadowed overhead by the clouds. It was long past midnight and the rain had not yet stopped. Under the canopy of the trees, little of the moisture fell upon them, but Estel was wet, and cold, and his mood of joy spawned by the twins’ presence was quickly diminishing into abject fear for the Wood-Elf. His own wounds hurt, but he bore them without grievance. The dying Silvan captured all of his attention, and he felt guilty to show his discomfort when Legolas was experiencing a much greater torment.

“Elladan,” the younger twin hissed suddenly to his brother, who stopped his humming and mixing immediately. Together, the two brothers stood as if on cue, both of their heads tilted to the side in concentration, their keen eyes peering out into the dark forest in the same direction.

He stood up from his seat as well, for just from the smiles that lit the twins’ faces, Estel knew that they did not expect trouble to be arriving, but aid. _Ada_ _is here!_ he thought with joy, and looked down to Legolas, thinking to share this news with the Prince, but of course, the Wood-Elf slept still.

A clatter of horse hooves compacting and squelching the mud of the soaked forest met the Adan’s ears, and was then followed by the nicker of a disgruntled steed, until Estel could see for himself the quick approach of a set of riders, no less than ten Noldor Elves, coming to the clearing. At the very front, preceded only by a doused Lord Glorfindel, was an equally sodden and disorderly Lord Elrond. Before the Elves had even dismounted, the twins were at their father’s side, speaking together in a mishmash of half-sentences that one would begin and the other would finish. Elrond listened to his sons, but his regard was for Estel. The human could feel his foster father’s eyes upon him, judging his well-being, taking in his tangled hair, his dirty and bruised chest, the cut on his forehead, the scabbed and raw wounds on his wrists from the Orc rope, and the bandaging wrapped around his belly. He stood there, waiting, while Elrond walked to Estel, looking at him with the incisive eyes of a healer, rather than an Ada.

Glorfindel began to issue orders to the band of warriors with them, instructing them to scout around the area, to ensure their liege and his sons’ safety, and perhaps also to give Elrond time alone with his progeny, and yet Estel barely noticed this. He watched Elrond, expecting the Elf Lord’s anger, his lecture, and received nothing but silence, though Elrond came closer, stopping a few strides short of Estel.

Estel hesitated before the Elf Lord: he had caused Lord Elrond, the twins, and the Imladrian warriors much grief. The young Adan was at his lowest, and if the Imladrian Lord decided to lecture him now in front of the warriors and his twin brothers, Estel would not be able to hold his tears.

 _I deserve his anger,_ the child told himself, watching the Elven Lord of Imladris as he stared in return at Estel, his face stoic and unreadable, as was its wont.

But suddenly, the calculative disinterest of a healer was replaced by a kind and loving face, a worried, tired, and relieved visage that made the young human child wish to cry more so than would receiving Elrond’s anger. Kneeling on the ground several feet before Estel, his Ada only held out his arms and waited for his son to come to him.

He had only seen thirteen summers. He was not a man. Never had he felt more childish than he did just then, but Estel found that he didn’t care in the least, because he longed to be a child a while longer, to enjoy the simple comfort of a father’s love. He flew into Elrond’s open arms much as he had done to Elladan earlier that dreadful day, his head hitting against his Ada’s chest and knocking the Elf Lord back a bit, before Elrond had Estel wrapped tightly in his embrace.

They stayed that way for many long moments, until Estel was pushed back, the shrewd gaze of his Ada upon him again. “How have you been hurt, little one?”

To assure the Elf Lord and soothe the elder’s worries, he prevaricated slightly, leaving out any detail and telling his Ada, “I was only tied. Legolas is the one that is hurt.” At mentioning the Wood-Elf, he reminded himself that he very much wanted Legolas to be the one under Elrond’s care, not himself, and so implored while admitting, “They beat him, and he is poisoned! Can you help him?”

From where they stood beside their father and Estel, the twins looked between themselves and Elrond, sharing the pain of memories that Estel did not himself carry, though he knew what his family was thinking. The twins remembered their mother, a she-Elf that Estel had never chanced to meet, but one that he knew had experienced a horrifying ordeal at the hands of Orcs. His own experience was altogether too similar, and that he had lived through something as appalling as had their mother made them worry that he would suffer a similar fate.

“Estel is fine, Ada,” Elladan spoke softly, a meaning behind his words deeper than their superficial guarantee of Estel’s physical wounds. “He has been frightened, as can be expected, but he is well.”

“Indeed,” the younger twin agreed, smiling at the tearful Adan as he added to his twin’s explanation, “we found him protecting Legolas, and aiding him, as well. Our Estel will be fine.” With this, Elrohir gave the human a wink of encouragement and ruffled the Adan’s knotted curls.

His sons’ judgment went unnoticed, for Elrond would not be satisfied that the Adan was well until he had seen this for himself. Running his hands over the human’s arms, his chest and back, and then returning to his bandaged belly, Elrond let loose a long sigh of relief. Shaking his head, he grabbed Estel by the shoulders and pulled the human into his embrace once more, saying, “You have scared me witless these past days, iôn.”

 _I bring them bad memories,_ he thought once Lord Elrond let him go again, wiping at his nose with the back of his hand as he sniffled in disheartenment. _They have already lived through losing someone close to them by the foul deeds of Orcs, and I have almost put them through the same again._

“See to Legolas, Ada, please,” he begged the Elf Lord, who returned his demand with a surprised smile to be called father.

However, the Imladrian leader nodded. Elrond was swift and efficient, his methods of providing care and medicine having been practiced and perfected for many years. So when he began to fuss over Legolas instead of Estel, the Adan knew that it would not be long before action was taken to heal the Prince, and thereafter, they would leave for Imladris.

“Does he waken at all?” their Ada asked the twins while he searched through a bag one of the warriors had handed him upon his request.

“Only for a few moments at a time,” the eldest twin told his father. He moved to kneel closer to the Prince, his hand slipping under Legolas’ neck to lift it when he saw his father remove a phial from his satchel. “We have been able to give him water, and kept his wounds covered with kingsfoil to draw out the poison, but had nothing else to give him.”

Elrond nodded and uncapped his concoction. The phial contained a liquid of the purest white that Estel had ever seen. It seemed nearly to glow, so bright was the fluid. He meant to ask what it contained, but Elrohir was already explaining to his human brother, speaking softly as if not to disturb their Ada and Elladan in their task, “It is a mixture of athelas and other herbs, a medicine that only the Elves can make, muindor, as it takes more than mere plants to brew.”

Placing his hand upon the Wood-Elf’s chest, Lord Elrond bent over the young Elf lying on the ground before him. He spoke in a tone the likes of which might be used to chastise a warrior on the field – it was harsh and challenging, dictating rather than asking, “Waken, Thranduilion.”

At first, Legolas only grunted softly, his strangely tranquil features tousled and then cleared, before his eyes opened wide, their glazed depths focused as he looked upon the face of the Elven Lord who he had been on his way to meet. His voice little louder than the pattering of the rain that fell upon them from the dark skies above, Legolas tried ineffectually to rise into sitting as he said with surprise, “Hîr nín –”

“Be quiet, Thranduilion,” the Elf Lord demanded with a smile that softened his command. “Your father and I have known each other for more years than you’ve been climbing trees. There is no need for formality amongst friends, and certainly not now. Save your strength.”

Legolas dropped his head back down, and thus into Elladan’s waiting palm, his eyes closing as a tremor passed over his body, beginning with his shoulders and moving downwards until even the Prince’s legs shimmied with agony. His eyes opening once more, the young Silvan tried to speak, though what he would say was lost as a fit of coughing overtook him.

“Drink this, Legolas,” the elder Elf insisted, holding the phial up to the Prince’s mouth once the Silvan had ceased coughing.

Again, the Wood-Elf complied without hesitation, trusting Lord Elrond without question, for truly it was as Elrond had said: Legolas’ father had known the Imladrian leader for many years, and their friendship was enough for the Prince to believe in the healer’s help.

Glorfindel came from nearby, carrying something of an odd shape, and instructed, “We should leave immediately, my Lord, to get the Prince to the valley.”

Nodding, Elrond prepared Legolas for travel by wrapping the shirtless Prince in a dry blanket he took from his satchel, while the Balrog-slayer unfurled what he held – it was a litter of some sort, naught more than a bolt of canvas stretched between two long, thick rods of wood, which could be held by warriors mounted on their horses. Hereon, the twins, their father, and Glorfindel lay the once more insentient Wood-Elf, while Estel made sure that Legolas’ injured arm remained still and the litter under him.

While the twins took the limbs of wood and carried Legolas to where the warriors were already waiting to accept gladly the royal burden they would carry to Rivendell, Elrond led Estel by the hand to the Elf Lord’s steed, leaving the Adan standing there while he mounted. In a few moments time, even the twins were on horses, riding behind some of the warriors. The campfire was extinguished, the embers stamped out into the muddy ground underneath, and the clearing shadowy save for the intermittent ray of bluish-white light from the moon above, peeking through the rain clouds.

Extending his hand down to Estel, the Elf Lord of Imladris told his distracted, young, Adan son, “Come, Estel. Let us go home.”

He could think of no better suggestion, and so climbed carefully behind Lord Elrond on the fine mount that his Ada rode, settling behind the elder Elf. It was not long before they rode onwards, away from the mountains, further from the cave and old campsite where he and Legolas had suffered, and to the only safe place the Adan had ever known.

They rode in silence; the only sounds were the soft noises of the forest, noises that would have once scared the Adan with their unfamiliarity. But now, Estel feared them no more. He laid his head against his Ada’s back, resting it between the Elf Lord’s shoulders, and let his mind wander. For the first time since he had realized he was lost in the woods, the Adan felt no fear, for even when Legolas had found the human, Estel had been afraid of Lord Elrond’s anger upon his and the Prince’s arrival in Imladris.

Now there was nothing to fear. His Ada was here, and Elrond would take care of them all, the human child was certain of it.

He was truly found.


	23. Chapter 23

The human was talking. The human was _always_ talking.

Legolas found this to be a good thing, however, for it reminded him to stay awake. Had Estel stopped talking, the Prince would merely have slid back into his reverie.

 _At least he is telling_ me _a story this morning, rather than trying to convince me to tell him one._

For the last several weeks, Legolas had lain in this bed, his body weak and his mind wandering in the fog of routine – the Silvan had been caught in this never-ending whirl of different healers coming to check on him, visitors calling to pay their civilities, and servants coming to bear away the detritus of linen and dishes, and to replenish the oil in the lamps and candles that were always afire around the room. Over these past weeks, there had been little to occupy him but the human’s stories, his questions, his concern, and on rare occasion, his silent company.

Although both Elrond and his twin sons came several times a day to ascertain that Legolas was doing well and to see to his needs, the only constant presence in the Wood-Elf’s healing room had been the young Estel. The Adan helped Legolas in the smaller needs he had, such as bringing him water, fetching for him his meals, and giving him the already prepared medicines that Legolas was required to take several times a day. All these things the human did without complaint, and indeed, Estel appeared to enjoy taking care of the Prince, for he was always smiling, always jovial, and always glad to see Legolas awake instead of sleeping. The Wood-Elf had no qualms that the human’s happiness to see him aware stemmed from the Adan’s almost having lost Legolas in the woods, both to his fever, and then when physically losing the Prince amongst the trees.

“That caused no trouble, not since they never found out about it,” Estel told him as he poured the Elf another glass of fruit sweetened water, speaking as if Legolas had responded to his last outrageous tale.

Something Legolas had said had made the human begin amusing Legolas with stories of times that Estel had been caught in some prank or misdeed, and now the child was telling the Prince of times when he had not been caught in his youthful misbehavior.

“What would have caused more trouble than that was the time when I took to playing in the wine cellar to avoid my lessons! Although they could never prove that I had done it, and Lord Erestor gave me the alibi to save me from the lecture that night!” Pouring into the cup the slightest bit of a silvery white liquid, the same medicine that Lord Elrond had given Legolas in the forest weeks ago, Estel stirred the concoction. “Lord Erestor made me help him organize his entire study in return. That in itself was punishment.”

Legolas could walk, talk, and fend for himself, but for no more than a few minutes at a time. After that, the effort of keeping up these activities would be too much for him, and someone would have to help him back to his bed, or take his book away to get him to sleep, or tell him to be quiet and not strain himself trying to speak. It had been worse to start: at first, the Silvan had not even known where he was, and for a whole week he had lain in this very bed, unable to do more for himself than open his eyes, whisper unintelligibly at the people around him though he tried to speak, and trust to Lord Elrond and his well-trained healers to take care of even his most intimate needs.

But trusting the Elf Lord of Imladris came naturally for Legolas, as his father had been longtime friends with Elrond. They had stopped the paralytic effects of the toxin before it had halted the warrior’s internal mechanisms – his breathing and his heartbeat. However, the poison had already affected the Wood-Elf’s muscles. Although he had not been told this during that week when he had known nothing but the torpor of his body and mind as it recovered, he had overhead and remembered Lord Elladan telling his twin that had not their father arrived when he did to give Legolas this medicine that he would take again now, the Prince would not have survived until dawn.

“I was only avoiding Lord Erestor’s lessons on history. They are most boring, Legolas. He can drone on for hours at a time about the smallest details. He once spoke for an hour telling me how the thatch rooftops in Rohan are constructed.” Shrugging his shoulders and shaking his head in eager disbelief that Lord Erestor could be so tedious, Estel said, “I will never need to know how to construct a roof in Rohan!”

Legolas tried not to laugh at the similarity between Estel’s circumstance then and his own circumstance now. _I would much rather be listening to Estel than any history lesson, however._ He smiled, nodding his head in the appropriate places to indicate that he was paying his storyteller his well-earned attention.

“But that morning –I was only eleven summers old at the time,” he reminded Legolas, speaking as if eleven was much younger than his thirteen years now, “and I was playing a game.” The Adan stopped to watch Legolas drink from the ceramic tumbler, his gray eyes focused on the Prince’s hands to be sure that he did not drop it, and his own hands held out to either intercept the cup before it fell, or take it back if Legolas showed himself too weak to drink on his own.

“There was a storm, you see,” he continued once he held the cup in hand and Legolas’ thirst was satisfied, “and I was a boatman on the river!”

And through all this tribulation, the young Adan had been here. Most days, Estel would come to Legolas’ room before even the Wood-Elf had wakened from his fatigued slumber. Legolas would rouse to find the Adan pulling back the drapes on the windows, which was Estel’s subtle instruction for the Silvan to wake to eat his breakfast. Although he left the more complicated tasks up to Lord Elrond and the twins, all of whom came to the Silvan’s rooms as often as they could with their other duties keeping them busy, from the beginning of the day, it was Estel who greeted him, and it was Estel who was the last to say goodnight come time for Legolas to sleep again.

“The wine cellar was dark and I could pretend to be in my boat, caught in the storm.” Placing the cup back on the table nearby, Estel seated himself in the chair close to Legolas’ bed. “I imagined that the waters were pouring onto the deck of my vessel, and water was crashing around me, making the whole deck slippery, and filling my boat.”

Every day he felt stronger. Every day he could walk a little further without needing someone to help him back to his bed. Every day he could speak a little longer without his voice eventually growing soft and inaudible. And every day, he could find humor in the young human’s massive imagination and innocent eagerness.

“I couldn’t see the shore because of the storm,” he said matter of fact, “and so my vessel drifted down the river until I was in unknown lands. By the time I made it onto the shore of the river, I was in some strange country where the people spoke in different tongues.”

Estel hadn’t lived very many years, and so one would think that he did not have many stories to tell, but the Adan had regaled Legolas with tales so wild that the Prince was certain that they must be true, especially since many of them involved Elladan and Elrohir. The Silvan had heard from his father of the sons of Elrond and knew them to be great warriors, apt healers, and to have made many journeys with the Rangers. But this story was the most peculiar that Legolas had yet to hear and was born from just the Adan’s imagination!

Shaking his head, Estel gave the Elf a sheepish smile. “But just as I was about to see their King, someone came down the steps to the cellar, and I hid behind a barrel so that none could find me playing my games! And when the cook left, ranting and raving about who had made a mess in the cellar, I ran up the steps behind him and to my room.”

Legolas tried to tie together all the odd ends of Estel’s story into something coherent so that he could reply, but found that he was quite confused as to what, exactly, the human had done wrong. “Although I see that you had skipped your lessons, which might have earned you a lecture, why would you be in trouble for playing in the cellar, Estel?

His sheepish smile grew, and the Adan blushed. “Because to simulate waves crashing into my boat, I uncorked over a score of aged bottles of wine, letting them pour out onto the floor. And for rain, I threw the wine into the air and let it fall where it might!”

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The Elf’s face lit up with a smile, which made Estel continue to keep the Silvan laughing, “I had to take a bath and hide my clothes quickly so that my mother would not see me drenched in wine, for if the twins and my Ada were to find out…”

Estel cut short the end of his story when noting that his Ada and two brothers were entering the room. The story he had been telling was one that none of his family knew – and if they had known, they would be very upset with the human for leaving a puddle of pungent crimson liquor on the cellar floor, splatters all over the walls and shelves, and no explanation for it.

“… and that is how I won the contest for eating apples at the harvest festival,” he finished quickly.

The twins and their father looked at Estel with suspicion as they walked to Legolas’ bed, apparently having heard enough of what the Adan was saying to know that his story’s ending was not of what he had been speaking to Legolas. And for his part, the Wood-Elf maintained a composed face for only as long as it took Estel to believe that he would get away with this change in topic, before Legolas was chuckling in mirth.

Estel sat up straighter in his chair, scooted it closer to the Silvan’s bed, and glared playfully at the Wood-Elf.

It was good to see the merry Elf smiling once again, rather than tossing in his sleep, moaning and shivering with fever. He crossed his arms over his chest and complained good-naturedly to Legolas, “It is no fair living with Elves. They hear everything I say and know all that I do. And you are not helping!”

“Then you will always be careful to speak the truth, and do what is right,” Elladan replied, walking behind his twin to the opposite side of the bed from where Estel sat. “So you are the one who spilled the wine in the cellar?”

Gauging from the identical smiles of the twins, and the forgiving smirk of his Ada, Estel decided to tell the truth. “I was only eleven.”

The Elves around him laughed, and for once, Estel did not mind that he was the focus of their jollity. He had brought his family much worry and sorrow when he had ran away from home, and so it was good to see them smiling, as well.

“How are you feeling this morning, young Prince?” the esteemed healer asked. Elrond held his hand to the Silvan’s forehead, checking for the febricity that resurfaced on occasion in the Wood-Elf’s healing body. “You have taken your medicines?”

“I have, my Lord,” the Prince replied, smiling at Elrond and then the Adan. “Estel has seen to it.”

Elrond lowered his hand and moved to sit beside the Silvan on the bed, sharing the same side as Estel. “Your fever has been absent for several days now. I believe the last of the toxin is gone from you, Legolas.”

“That is good news, Lord Elrond.” Legolas struggled to sit up more fully against the pillows behind him. “If you do not mind, hîr nín, I would send word to my father of this.”

“A message has already come from your father, Legolas, concerning the missive I sent him to tell him of your progress. He wished to come himself, but has sent one of your elder brothers in his stead, likely to make certain that you are healing well, and will have someone with you when you choose to return to Eryn Galen,” Elrond explained, “though you are welcome to stay as long as you desire, of course. The messenger arrived this morning, and said that your brother’s retinue was expected to leave just a few days after him, so he should be arriving within the next two weeks.”

The Wood-Elf appeared quite pleased to hear this, and thanked the Elf Lord, “Hannon le, hîr nín.”

 _I will get to meet another Wood-Elf,_ Estel thought with curiosity. _I wonder if he is the same as Legolas._

Interrupting his thoughts, his Ada stood before him. “Go, Estel. Eat, bathe, and take rest,” Elrond suddenly ordered his young, human child, tugging him gently from his seat by the bed and nearly pushing him from the room, assuring him, “The twins will sit with Legolas.”

 

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Estel complied, but promised Legolas before he left, “I will be back before the evening meal, my friend.”

Elladan smiled to see his human brother had become so fond of the Wood-Elf. He had already heard the story from Estel and Legolas about how the two had met, the details of their time in the forest and in the cave, and their ill-fated attempt to travel home to Imladris.

Reminded by this of how Estel had first approached Legolas in the forest, without knowing if the Wood-Elf were friendly or not, or even if the traveler was an Elf or man, Dwarf or something much less savory, the elder twin wondered, _How desperate our Estel must have been._ He looked to his twin and saw much the same confusion and distress in Elrohir, who was thinking the same as his brother. _Estel has suffered much in his miserable trip to the mountains._

“We owe you a great debt for returning our Estel to us,” the elder twin felt compelled to say.

The Wood-Elf looked surprised at the Noldo’s declaration and his swift alter in their lighthearted conversation. “I owe the Adan a great debt. It is as I have said; Estel aided me often during this strange journey. Had it not been for him, I would have been mauled, eaten, skewered, or slain in various other ways countless times over.”

Frowning at the Wood-Elf’s mention of these atrocities, Elrohir argued, “But if you had not taken our brother under your guidance, or had not intended to help him find his way to Imladris, then you would never have been caught by the Orcs.”

“Following that line of reasoning, then, I should thank all of you for teaching him what he knew of herbs, swordsmanship, and archery, long before we were caught. He may not be a great warrior or healer as of yet, but he knew enough to be an asset,” the Silvan quarreled kindly in return.

Elrond, who had been taking stock of the herbs and tinctures upon the laden table close by, came to stand beside the Wood-Elf’s bed once again. “It is good to know that you hold him no grudge. Not everyone would wish to aid him: he is a child still, and human.”

Elladan could see that the Wood-Elf was nearly affronted by this statement, for his shoulders squared and he frowned at the suggestion that he would leave a child alone in the forest. However, their Ada had meant no umbrage to the Silvan, and Legolas must have seen this, as did the twins, in their Ada’s affable demeanor.

“I begrudge him nothing, child or not. He needed aid, and I was there to give it to him, and after that, he repaid me in kind. Even should he not have, I would still have desired to help him.” His shoulders lowering and his smile returning, Legolas sighed. “All things happen for a reason. Perhaps this was a lesson necessary for Estel, or for me, or perhaps even for you,” the Wood-Elf finished to the twins and their father, his fair face then flushing lightly upon realizing he had insinuated that the three Noldor would need lessons of any sort.

“Spoken just as your father would say,” the Elf Lord of Imladris said, speaking fondly of his friend, King Thranduil. “I see that he has imparted his wisdom upon you.”

The Silvan smiled happily to be compared to his esteemed father, or so it seemed to Elladan, who added to his own father’s words, “And we are all the more glad of it. Our Estel may have proven that he could survive in the woods, alone or not, but he has come by this knowledge with scars to prove it.”

They sat in silence – or rather, they sat listening to the busy sounds of the wildlife outside the window, the birds calling, the insects buzzing, and the Elves in the valley singing and speaking as they went about their daily business.

“Excuse me, Legolas. There are a few other Elves I must see to this morning,” Elrond told his Wood-Elf charge, and upon Legolas’ genial smile, the Elf Lord left to see to his other patients, allowing Elladan and Elrohir to remain with the Prince of Mirkwood.

For a short time, the Prince remained quiet, not truly sleeping, not even dozing. His thoughts were elsewhere, gauging by his faraway gaze, which had settled in the far side of the room, where the sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, the fine fabric flitting in the breeze that blew in from the open doors of the balcony.

“Would you like to go out onto the balcony?” the younger twin asked unexpectedly, coming to the same realization as his twin that the Wood-Elf did not wish to be inside his sickroom. “I would offer to take you to the courtyard or the gardens, but Ada would have our heads if we let you walk that far.”

Elladan knew at once that this is what the Prince desired, for Legolas’ attention snapped to Elrohir, and a faint smile lit his pale face. “We could move a chair onto the balcony for you,” the elder twin offered.

“This is a most pleasant room,” the Silvan prevaricated to the twins, who gave him identical, knowing smirks in return. “But I’ve yet to see much of the valley save for it. If you do not mind to help me, I would enjoy the outdoors very much.”

While Elrohir carried a chair onto the small balcony, Elladan aided the Prince in standing from the bed. Without much help at all, Legolas made his way across the room and onto the balcony, needing Elladan’s aid again only in helping him sit carefully in the low, plush chair without falling into it, instead. Both twins sat directly on the side railing, facing each other, one on either side of the Prince.

“The trees remember my father. They know that I am his son,” the Silvan stated in a soft voice.

His curiosity took hold of him, and the elder Noldo had to ask, “What did you say to Estel, Prince Legolas, to make him change his mind about his family?”

“I do not understand.” Legolas rolled his head round on his neck, stretching the muscles there and opening his eyes as he spoke, “I said nothing to him of you. The only time Estel even mentioned you was to tell me that you would were the ones to teach him how to walk through the forest, how to wield a sword, and other lessons.”

 _Then there must be some explanation for why Estel would welcome us back into his heart. Surely, it was not only his fear that caused him to receive us so sincerely when we found him._ They had missed their younger brother’s affection, and if Estel’s newfound warmth faded when his fear did, Elladan would not be able to bear to lose it again.

But the Silvan was speaking once more, and so Elladan listened as Legolas said to them, “Estel told me that he had run away to prove himself. He also told me that it was not easy living with Elves, as he has said today.” The Wood-Elf’s voice was growing fainter. It was not pain that quieted his speech, but fatigue. Settling his head against the wall upon which the back of his chair was sitting flush, Legolas told the twin Lords, “He is the youngest of your family, and will always try to catch up to his elders in actions and thinking. However, he is a human child amongst a family of Elven warriors, and looks to his brothers for how to act, how he should grow into a warrior.”

Legolas sighed a long, contented breath that turned into a yawn, and he grinned at the twins in apology for his unintentional lack of manners before he advised them, “Estel believes he will never match your abilities. He feels outmatched and alone in being so far behind in skill and valor. I do not think he ran away to upset you and your father, but rather to force the chance to earn your respect in the only manner he knew how, by proving that he was not the child you think him to be.”

 _Father is right – I do not know how wise King Thranduil may be, but surely he has passed this to his son,_ the elder twin mused with a growing smile. Looking to his twin, Elladan could see that Elrohir understood this as well – Estel wished to prove himself, and he had, but he had not done it in spite of his family, but to be accepted as one of them. _Then we shall need to treat Estel less like a child, and more like the man he is becoming, and take care to remind him that we love him regardless._

“I am the youngest in my family,” Legolas finished, his body growing lax as sleep began to take hold of him. “I can understand how he feels.”

He could see why Estel had become fond of Legolas: under the quiet friendliness that the Silvan exuded was a sagacity that was not overbearing, not as some would use it to impress their truths and supposed wisdom upon everyone. His tranquil prudence seemed to bring the Prince joy, for he was always smiling, and like none of Elrond’s progeny, Legolas shared Estel’s misgivings about his place in his own family.

 _In time, I can see that Elrohir and I will be this Silvan’s friend, as well,_ he thought, looking to his twin again to note that Elrohir was smiling at the sleepy Wood-Elf, too.


	24. Chapter 24

He shouldn’t have let this frustrate him, but Legolas could not keep himself from becoming angry that his legs were already shaking in exhaustion. _I have only walked from the hall of healing to the courtyard, and now I am not even halfway across the courtyard yet!_

The Prince had been in Imladris for almost two months, but had yet to see any of it save for what he could view by the balcony of his sickroom – until today.

Today he had finally convinced Estel to use the mischievousness for which he was always getting himself into trouble by helping Legolas escape the motherly attentions of the attendant healers and help him out of the Last Homely House and into the out of doors. They had yet to be noticed by any who would know that Legolas was not supposed to be outside, and the Prince took this as a sign that perhaps he could avoid getting Estel into trouble over the matter, if they could sneak back into the house without being caught.

 _I have seen nothing like Imladris,_ he told himself, walking slower than even his injuries necessitated so that he could view the cascading waterfall into the distance, the river in the gorge below, and the housing built into the rock of the valley between the tall mountains overhead. Even from outside Elrond’s massive home, the view of the house itself was magnificent.

There was a bustle of activity in all of the Last Homely House. The preparations for the banquet and celebration that were to have been made upon Legolas’ coming had been postponed. Now that Legolas’ eldest brother came to the valley, his arrival to occur today or tomorrow, there was a bigger feast planned to celebrate both the Princes’ arrivals, but also to serve as a belated feast for Estel’s return and for Legolas’ recovery.

“When you are better, you will go to the archery field with me, won’t you?” the Adan asked with undisguised hope, diligently keeping pace with Legolas to help the Silvan should his legs fail him.

Earlier that day, Legolas had found his sword, bow, and what was left of his quiver in the armoire of his room. How they had come to be in the closet, he had not known, until Elladan and Elrohir had come to visit him a short time later, and explained that they had saved his weapons for him from the campsite. They had placed them in the armoire for safekeeping, but had not thought of them afterward. And since seeing them, the young Adan had been hounding Legolas about teaching him his techniques in archery.

“I will,” he told the young human. “Although your brothers might be angry that I am teaching you when they have already shown you how to use a bow.”

Estel shook his head and snorted, “They will not care: they will likely be glad for it. They say I am hopeless with a bow!”

Laughing, Legolas replied, “Then you offer me a challenge. It may take some time to teach you, I see.”

The human’s smile broadened at the mention of Legolas spending more time in the valley, and they continued their walk at a slightly faster pace, Estel pulling Legolas along as if speeding their tempo would speed the Prince’s recovery, and thus their making it to the archery range.

With the coming of Legolas’ brother and fellow Wood-Elves, Estel seemed to ask for more promises from the Silvan. He did not want Legolas to leave for Eryn Galen just yet, this much was clear. Legolas did not intend to leave until he was entirely better, and so the Prince promised to do with Estel everything he asked, as long as the Silvan’s brother did not mind remaining in the valley with him.

“And will you wait to depart until my mother returns? She would wish to meet you,” the human said, using propriety now to obtain the Elf’s acquiescence to his desire to keep Legolas in Rivendell. “You cannot leave before she has the chance to thank you for helping me!”

Again, the Elda promised, “I will have to stay until she arrives, of course, Estel. I will need to be here to convince her to allow you to come visit me in Eryn Galen in the near future,” he offered.

The Adan nodded with much enthusiasm. “You will need to convince my Ada, more than my mother, but we will try. I very much wish to see the Great Forest.”

They ambled for a while longer, moving further from the gardens where the celebration would take place and towards the quieter areas of the courtyard. Legolas looked to his human friend. The child was still haunted by his encounter and captivity with the Orcs, as was Legolas. Estel did not like talking about the encounter; he refused to mention it, and still suffered nightmares concerning it. The Wood-Elf had nightmares of his own, and spoke of them to assure the human that this anguish was not his alone.

“I had a most distressing dream last night,” he told the Adan, slowing their walk so that he could concentrate more on what he spoke, rather than keeping himself upright. “I dreamt that we did not make it free of the Orcs. I dreamt that they carved me where I hung, but luckily I woke before much else could happen.”

Remaining quiet, the human child halted their progress and searched around them, and then began to lead Legolas towards a stone bench under a great oak tree. “But it did not happen,” the human said decisively in an attempt to close the subject. “You are here, and we are safe.”

“I have never been as close to an Orc as I was in the cave, Estel, and I want never to be that close again. I have not been as frightened as I was then, either.” Continuing although he knew that Estel did not wish to hear it, Legolas hoped that he could gain the child’s trust to speak to him about their ordeal. It was not healthy that Estel retained his fear to himself.

“But surely you have fought in battles before? You did not seem frightened,” the child finally answered. “Not in the cavern, and not at the campsite, not even with a Warg sitting atop you, licking its claws clean of your blood did you seem afraid!”

He sat on the bench beside the Adan, glad to settle his weight somewhere other than his weak legs, which were still not as strong as they should be. “I have fought in battles before, yes. I have killed spiders and Orcs and Wargs, but never have I stopped being afraid of them. Fear keeps us mindful, we must just be careful not to let it control us.”

Estel nodded, seeming to ponder over this without accepting it immediately as truth. The unquestioning recognition of authority, something that Estel had displayed time and time again while following Legolas home from the forest, was missing from the Adan now. Estel was still talkative, full of questions, and curious, but his questioning was more pointed now, was less childlike wonder than a thirst for truly learning when he asked his questions. The human was thinking for himself, it seemed to Legolas.

He was barely older than when first Legolas had met him: and yet, the child was grown, not by age, but by experience. The Prince said as much to the Adan, telling him, “You are older, Estel.”

“I am no older,” the human replied as if speaking to a daft Elfling, for he could tell that Legolas was speaking of more than his age. The Adan’s nose curled into mendacious disgust, smelling the oncoming lecture, it seemed. He complained, “I have just come from my lessons, Legolas! Do not tell me that you intend to lecture me this afternoon.”

He could not help but laugh at the child’s precocious statement. “I do not mean to lecture you, Estel, only to tell you what I have learned myself over the years: it is best to take what one can from any situation, even if it is painful to think about or not easy to forget. One never knows when what he has lived through in the past will help him survive or aid others in the future.”

Astute, Estel gleaned from this vague statement of what Legolas meant, and remembered what he had told the Adan shortly after finding him in the woods. “You speak of the tall tree in your forest?” the child asked, twisting to face the Silvan fully. “You speak of the time when you were too young to climb down the tree? When your father had to fetch you from the upper branches?”

“You misremember my story. I was not _too young_ to climb down, but _too inexperienced_.” He leant back into the bench’s seat, though it was hard and he almost wished to be back in his sickroom’s soft bed. “I was very frightened up there, Estel, clinging to the thinnest branches at the top of that tree. But that day I learnt something that I needed to know,” he told the Adan. He had intimated much the same to Elrond and his twin sons days earlier, but wanted now for Estel to hear this, “A lesson, whether it comes from a teacher, from luck, from some terrible dilemma or occurrence, or from ourselves, is still a lesson.”

“I would much rather learn from Lord Erestor than a cavern of Orcs,” the human chided Legolas with a snide smile, but the Prince could tell that the Adan understood what the Silvan told him. “It seems more that we were being tested before we had been given our lesson!”

“It is not fair, I know, but life is often the test that teaches us a lesson,” the Silvan amended, laughing his amusement. “Well, Estel, you have learnt something from this whole encounter with the Orcs and Wargs, and having to lead a febrile Prince through the woods, that Lord Erestor could never have taught you – you have learnt how to be friend to a Wood-Elf.”

The human child smiled widely.

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He could certainly see the wisdom in the Elf’s words now. His meager experience in treating wounds and his few skills in swordsmanship and archery had helped to keep him and the Wood-Elf alive during their ordeal. And, of course, he now knew more than before of very vital matters for surviving in the forest, and likewise, he realized that the things the twins taught him of the woods, his Ada taught him of medicines, and the Wood-Elf had taught him of friendship were important to his well-being.

The sudden clang of bells resounded from atop the gate leading into the courtyard, signaling that the expected convoy for which the guard was watching had finally arrived. Moments later, as the Elf and human watched in companionable silence, riders came through the gates, stopping by the fountain in the courtyard. From the looks of them, the Silvan warriors had ridden with much haste. Their clothes were covered in dirt and dust, their hair had been pulled from its braids by the wind, and their horses’ nostrils were wide and flaring as the beasts pulled in air. Being too tired from his walk, Legolas did not stand or otherwise make his way to the arrivers, but shouted fondly to them as they dismounted from their horses, “Muindor! Brethren! Look no further!”

All the Silvan turned to the familiar sound of their youngest Prince’s voice, some called their greetings, but it was one Wood-Elf in particular who made his way across the courtyard, leaving his horse in the care of his servants, as he called back to the Silvan Elf beside Estel, “Greenleaf! Brother!”

The Wood-Elf, another of Eryn Galen’s Princes, finally approached them, which caused Legolas to stand. Estel stood with his Silvan friend, intending to offer his own respects to the older Prince, who had similar features as Legolas, except that his braids were auburn rather than citrine, as was Legolas’ hair, and his ageless face was set into a morose frown that would have been out of place on Legolas’ always-smiling visage. This new Elf didn’t even wait for a proper introduction to the human, but nodded warmly at him, saying, “Master Human, please excuse us,” before grabbing the younger Silvan by his arm and leading him away to chastise him in private. “You are a troublemaker, muindor,” the elder Wood-Elf hissed in annoyance at his younger sibling. “Ada has been worried sick about you, as have we all!”

Legolas hobbled beside his brother for a moment more, ere he turned slightly to wink one blue eye at Estel, which called Estel’s attention to Legolas’ demeanor in being railed at so thoroughly by his brother. The Elf was not at all worried that his brother’s anger meant anything more than that his brother loved him.

_Who would have thought that it would be Legolas and not I who was in for a long lecture this morning!_

In that moment, watching Legolas’ brother fuss over him in the same way that the twins had always fussed over Estel, Estel understood something that had always bothered him about his own brothers, another thing in common that he and Legolas shared: _His family has been as worried for him as mine has been for me. He worries not because he does not trust Legolas, but because he loves him._

He watched with amusement as the elder Silvan led his younger brother to a somewhat secluded area of the busy gardens, which turned out to be the only space unoccupied by servants stringing lanterns in the trees, so that he could continue his rant with more privacy. Although Estel could no longer hear what was said, he watched with unabashed curiosity as Legolas took the lecture graciously, nodding and assuring his brother of whatever his elder asked him.

Estel’s own brothers and father would likely always coddle him, worry for him, and no matter how much he proved himself a man or a warrior, or how old he became in years, his family would never stop caring for him. When they worried, they did it because they cared for him, not because he was human or they thought him inferior. This simple revelation cheered the Adan, and he knew it to be true, for he could see in Legolas the same frustration that Estel often felt to be the object of his brothers’ worry, although Legolas, by his many years of experience in this matter, had already learnt what Estel had only just discovered. And so when Legolas’ brother finally hugged the younger Wood-Elf, his lecture finished, Estel laughed in merriment at the scene, glad again that it was not he being harangued.

He scratched at the healing wound on his belly in absent but careful digs of his fingernails through his tunic. The tear of his belly’s skin was healed into a dark pink line of scarring, his bruises had faded weeks ago, and the gash on his head was nothing but another, even lighter mar upon his person. He was healed – physically.

Even all of Legolas’ injuries were healed or healing quickly. The marks upon his back made by the Warg’s claws and slices into his skin induced by the Orc’s blades were deeper, uglier scars than was Estel’s stomach wound, but they no longer pained the Silvan. His aching arm and the bruises caused by the Orcs’ beatings had faded before the Adan’s contusions had left him. Indeed, other than the weakness that still plagued the Elf, the remnants of the poison leaving his body and the atrophy of his muscles the toxin had created, there was nothing that would be evident upon seeing the Prince that he had suffered at all.

 _But I know better,_ the human told himself, now rubbing his belly. _These deeper wounds, too, will heal in time, as will my own._ His father had earned the twins’ and Elrond’s respect for his prowess in battle, his mother held their respect for her wisdom and her own part in keeping her son safe that fateful day eleven years ago – Estel doubted he had earned anything but scars and new nightmares from his journey into the woods. _Legolas is right, though,_ he argued with himself, watching the dark haired Silvan looking over his younger brother and hugging him often, which Legolas endured without complaint but many a smile. _This is a lesson._

After the elder Prince had aided his younger brother back to the center of the courtyard where the other Silvan were waiting, presumably to now make his necessary greetings to Lord Elrond and perform the diplomatic rites that his position required, Estel sat on the bench in the courtyard, watching the activity of the newly arrived Silvan being greeted and their horses led away, until a call from behind him drew his attention.

“Estel! We have been searching everywhere for you! You were not in Legolas’ room as you were supposed to be.”

Slowly, he turned in his seat on the stone to see who had called his name, only to find that his twin brothers were walking towards him. His welcome never made it past his lips, for in Elrohir’s hand was a length of Elven rope. _They have come to tie me to the pillar,_ he thought. He was sitting rather close to a pillar, in fact. Standing in a hurry, Estel considered running into the woods close by, but rejected that thought at once. _The last thing I need is to get lost in the woods again, even if the twins will be right behind me this time._ He could run into the Last Homely House to evade his adopted siblings, but looking over his shoulder at where Legolas stood with his brother and brethren Silvan in the middle of the courtyard by the house’s front steps, he thought, _Legolas has taken his lecture. I suppose I should take mine._ The twins walked closer, their grinning never lessening at their approach. _They will tie me to this pillar sooner or later._

“Estel,” the younger twin repeated, coming to stand right before the human, “you –“

“I am ready,” he interrupted, holding out his wrists to the Noldo, prepared to have them tied. “But if you must tie me to a pillar, please pick one in the shade. The day is already warm.”

Both Noldor stared at their human brother with amused confusion at the human’s winsome statement, and then looked to each other for some clue as to what would make the human believe they would tie him to one of the great pillars of the archways in the courtyard. It only took a moment for Elrohir to remember he carried rope in his hand, however, and he shook it at the Adan in mock threat. Still laughing, Elrohir explained, “Nay, muindor! We desire your help in the yards with the new foals.”

“Unless you _prefer_ to be tied to a pillar with this rope,” Elladan added with another hearty cachinnation, “though I would rather have you holding it as a tether to help bring the foals into the stables.”

He had always doubted that his brothers were his friends, not because they didn’t treat him as such, but they were his brothers – they were somewhat obligated by these adoptive familial connections to be nice to him. _This is the first time they have ever asked for my help with the newborn horses._ He forsook his suspicion; letting his own doubts pollute this time with his brothers would only ruin his enjoyment of it. If they sometimes treated him like a child, he would only need to remember that he was still a child. _Legolas has chosen to be my friend,_ he thought, his adolescent mind supplying him with this logic, _even though I am human and younger than he is, and not a warrior yet; he still wishes to know me. Perhaps my brothers feel the same._

“Estel?” the elder twin prompted.

“I will help you,” he agreed happily, and then let his brothers lead him to the backfields where the young horses were allowed to roam while not in their stables.

As they walked, Elladan placed his arm around the young human’s shoulder, walking in pace with him, while Elrohir strode before them, singing a song that Estel had not heard before. He would learn this song, though – and much more from the twins, his Ada, and Legolas – to grow, to become a great warrior, as was his father, to roam the woods with the Rangers, as was his desire, and to become the King he would one day need to be.


End file.
